


Can't Help Falling In Love

by trustxlovexhope



Category: Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, Gym Class Heroes, Mindless Self Indulgence, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, Paramore, The Academy Is..., Twenty One Pilots
Genre: 1960s, 1969, Anal Sex, Anxiety, Asexual Character, Bisexual Characters, Cold War, Coming out of the Closet, DID I FUCKING MENTION BRENDON IS A DRAG QUEEN???, Depression, Elvis - Freeform, F/F, F/M, FTM, Gay Characters, Heterosexuality, History, Homosexuality, I love you guys, Lesbian Characters, M/M, Mental Hospitals, Multi, Music, Other, Punk, SO, Sorry guys, Stonewall Riots, Straight Allies, Suicidal Tendencies, Suicide, The Beatles - Freeform, Transgender Characters, and everyone else is busy being gay, and i've been doing just fine, bandom au - Freeform, but drag queen brendon will hopefully make up for it, but i felt wrong changing it, but it's gonna be good, coming out of my cage, conversion therapy, demiboy ryan ross, drag queen brendon, gay bars, good shit, honestly, i don't know who the rolling stones are though, i know the ship is shit, in the closet, it's 8 at night and i feel drunk, josh and mikey are off to war, kill me?, lots of music references, mental institutes, mentions of lobotomies, nonbinary characters - Freeform, pansexual characters, somewhat punk era?, straight allies need more love, theSE TAGS SUCK, this is such a sad book
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-03-17 04:53:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 35,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13651836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trustxlovexhope/pseuds/trustxlovexhope
Summary: "Shall I stay? Would it be a sin?If I can't help falling in love with you."•••Pete’s life turns to hell when his brother and his best friend is shipped off to boot camp to help fight in the war and he’s forced to move in with this kid he barely knows, Patrick Stump.Five days into the arrangement, and Pete’s starting to get suspicious from the fact he leaves every night without giving a reason to the fact some other guy is always hanging around.Who is Frank? And where does Patrick always go? And why do I suck so bad as summaries?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are two things I cannot do for the life of me. 1) Prewrite my shit. 2) Proofread before posting said "shit." I ran this bitch through grammarly and that's it. It's kinda sad.
> 
> Anywhore, I'm really proud of this and I'm SUPER excited to post this! So please, please, please leave a kudos, a comment, or share!!! Thank you!!!!!

March 1st, 1969

    _Andrew,_

_ It's been two weeks since you were send off to boot camp and I already miss you. Our landlord is pissed at me for not keeping up on rent, but I completely forgot to tell him that I'll be moving out until today, so it's understandable. The days are finally getting longer and I'm finding myself getting lonelier and lonelier. I miss you. You're my (one and only) brother. _

_     I've begun packing up my things today, I'm bringing your things with me but I had to leave behind a few of your belongings. I'm afraid a few of your beatles vinyls are going to waste but there just isn't enough room at Patrick's right now. He told me that if I keep it compact, though, I can bring along that box you have with all your hats. You've always loved your hats. _

_     Anyways, I miss you. Things are much quieter without you here. I'm staring out the window now. Do you remember when I played that stupid Elvis song on the vinyl and we used to sing along and you would drum along on your things. You always loved music, Drew. I don't know what I'm rambling on about anymore. I'm acting like you're gone and you haven't even been sent out yet. _

Pete inhales a breath through his lips and out his nose, a small huffing sound filling his ears as he presses his pencil back into the sharpener and goes back to writing away on that lined paper. He's got The Beatles playing in his record player just beside the oak wood desk he made years ago with his father. That's coming with him to Patrick's but it's staying in his room. Patrick doesn't have any room for it outside of his little confinement. Once this war is over, though, he knows things will hopefully be back to normal. Hopefully nothing too bad will happen.

    _How is boot camp treating you so far? I'm guessing when you come back, I'll be seeing you with your hair buzzed short and your body much more muscular than it was before. I've never been into guys like that before, you know that, but I know some special lady would love to take you home someday. Things haven't been the same with you romantically since Natalia. I swear she took something from you._

_    Patrick seems like a nice guy, we haven't talked much except for over the phone but he's kind of sweet in a way. He talks about Mikey a lot, I think he really does care about his friend. Speaking of Mikey, how is he doing? Are you guys in the same cabin together? How are the cabin generals? Is it as hard as everyone says? _

_     The grocery store isn't going too well, we've been running low on business in the past few days and it doesn't help that Ash has been pushing me harder than ever to be manager. I don't want to, I just don't want the extra money. I don't need it. Do you think I should just go for it? Would it be better on Patrick? I'll ask him when I move in tomorrow. I can't believe you've already been gone for two weeks. It's kind of crazy. _

_     Did you see the news that Canada's thinking about legalizing homosexuality? I think it's really great that people are finally accepting people like us. Although, I know we still have a long way to go but still. I hope we get there soon. It's important that people learn to accept this and... I've heard that they're still practicing conversion therapy in some parts of America. It scares me, Drew. What if they find me out? Would my parents send me off? You know my dad has never really been fond of people like me, but I never came out to him. Still... I'm afraid of what might happen to me if I make one wrong move. Times are tense right now and sometimes, the right choice isn't always the right choice. _

    _Anyways, enough about my depressing rambles. I hope you have fun in boot camp (or try to at least). I'll send you letters as often as possible. I love you, man._

_             Sincerely, _

_             Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III _

_             (Sent, March 2nd, 1969) _

Pete folds the paper up, gentle and even as he can get, then presses it into a tight envelope, licking across the seal and pressing it shut before setting it aside and rising to his feet. The bluebirds are tweeting outside his window as night creeps through the window. The moon is a yellow crescent through the black quilt of the night sky, and holes of stars poke out shining brighter than the sun. It's beautiful, Pete's always loved night time despite the fact it's always so dark and gloomy. It seems to match the pit that's become his heart over the years, that empty, empty pit that he's grown so used to.

He tugs off his shirt as he heads upstairs to his room and throws the clothing into the hamper. His ears are ringing as he climbs into bed and pulls the sheets up to his shoulders, his eyes fixed on the lamppost out his window and the stars overhead. He falls asleep thinking of Andrew and Patrick and Mikey, wondering where in the hell tomorrow will take him and thinking of what's to come in the near future.

***

2237 East Blinker Street. Lower Manhattan.

Pete is driving slow through the streets, looking on the left side of the road and searching for that dark mahogany house as Drew had described it. He sees kids on their bikes laughing, one with long, curly hair and another with a buzz cut while a third boy has messy, short blond hair and he's giggling about some Rebecca Johnson who was at his house the night before. Pete isn't sure he wants to know what those two did but he doubts it was something their god would smile upon.

He continues down the street, 2223, 2225, 2229... 2237. An oak tree sits tall and stiff in the front yard, grounded to the earth with large, pink buds rustling in the wind. Pete stops his car, sitting for a long moment before eventually just nodding to himself and turning off the engine. He gets out, heading up a concrete sidewalk to those same dark wood stairs and straight to the door. There is no porch, but Pete doesn't really care, his and Andrew's house didn't have one either. The stairs just lead straight up to a mailbox, the red flag erect and stiff on the side, and the door. There is no glass, only a small peephole for Patrick to look through but Pete doubts he'll use it. He's expecting him.

The raven haired kid rises a shaky fist to the door, shaky because he's nervous, shaky because he's afraid that Patrick won't like him very much or maybe that he'll mess up in one way or another and offend him and he'll be left homeless. Maybe he's just overthinking but he tends to do that a lot. He knows he shouldn't but he does. So he kinda stands there like a fucking weirdo, his eyes latched to the door and his fist just a few inches away, ready to knock but unable to move. He's overthinking this. He just needs to knock, Jesus.

Before he can summon up the courage, though, the door opens inward and Pete drops his fist, eyes wide and body stiff. A man stands there, a cigar between his lips, lit dark with bright embers glowing at the end but that's the last thing Pete notices. His attention is derived, instead, to everything else. This man is fucking gorgeous, the most handsome guy Pete has possibly ever seen.. He's got short, dark locks shading down his eyes and a pair of bright cobalt eyes with a golden ring that seem to see straight though Pete's soul. A pair of pretty pink lips sit small and curved on his face, bright and chapped. He's wearing a leather jacket, plain and dark ebony and a pair of slim-fit black pants cover his long, skinny legs. Pete has to hold back a choke of surprise as drool catches in his throat. This guy is fucking _hot_.

"Peter?" Patrick asks, he's got the regular New Yorker accent but he notices a deeper accent of a different kind hidden underneath and when he speaks, it's in an almost lazy, grunged way. He pronounces his "r's" lighter than Pete does, but only slightly.

"Yes, that's me," Pete replies, "You can just call me Pete, though. You're Patrick?"

"Yeah, do you want help grabbing your things?" He seems almost uninterested in what Pete has to say, although the dark-eyed kid wouldn't be surprised, he must have known Pete was standing there for a good two minutes before he finally just opened the door for the poor boy. That's not something normal people would see as a "good impression."

"Yes!" Pete says a little too loud, then in a quieter, embarrassed tone he adds, "Please."

Patrick sighs, opening the door a little wider and calling into the house, "Hey, Frank, help me grab some of Pete's stuff why don't you?"

"Fuck off," Frank calls back and for some reason Patrick chuckles. Pete didn't even realize anyone else was in the house, but this Frank guy sounds pretty intimidating even though he's just out of sight behind the door. His voice kind of sounds scary, but maybe that's just Pete being anxious again. His parents always wanted to submit him to Creedmoor for that but he refused, it isn't that bad. He swears.

"Here, you can set your stuff in the basement for now if you want to, Frank and I found room last night," Patrick says with a little bit of a lighter attitude. He follows Pete out to the little Ford Mustang he managed to get from his dad, "What did you bring?"

Pete unlocks the trunk and grabs a box of records that he and Andrew had collected over the years, everything from Elvis to Jimi Hendrix to The Beach Boys to The Rolling Stones. He's had a passion for music for a while, and he knows how to play guitar, the guitar Patrick's bringing in now, "just some music stuff, a few things my dad's given me over the years. Uh, that guitar there. I don't think I brought much. Then all my toothpaste and such."

Patrick nods, "You know how to play guitar?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Pete replies, bringing the box downstairs and setting it beside the wall. The basement is small and most of it is just storage for old things that Patrick probably doesn't need anymore. There's a piano turning rusty and old and a bunch of school supplies, probably from when Patrick was still in school. There's also some food storage, Pete isn't sure if it's just for storage or if it's some kind of back up plan for if the war goes wrong.

"That's neat. Mikey always knew bass, and Frank knows some guitar. Don't mind th-him, though, he's just a close friend of mine," Patrick heads back upstairs, the guitar still slung on his shoulder, "Here, follow me. I'll show you your room."

Pete follows Patrick upstairs from the basement to the first floor to the second. Patrick takes a left and down the hall that overlooks the living room, the opens the door. The room is pretty clean, a twin sized bed sits against the wall opposite the bedroom door covered in a dark red bedsheets. Patrick sets the guitar on the wall beside the bedside table and turns back to Pete will a grin, "I hope this is good. I tried to clean it up as much as I could but Mikey tends to leave messes in his room."

"This was his room?" Pete asks, setting the bag of toiletries on the bed.

"Yep, he was a nice guy, too. I really wish he hadn't gotten drafted." Frank's voice rings out through the room and Pete immediately spins to see the man there. He has long, shaggy charcoal hair and these pretty green eyes that seem to look yellow in the sunlight trailing through the window. He's short, actually, really fucking short and Pete internally laughs at the thought that this guy could be dangerous. He is still somewhat intimidating, though, from the tattoos decorating his knuckles and the grim, blankness in his eyes. Pete swallows and begins sorting through his toiletries.

"Was he?" Pete asks.

"Yeah," Frank replies, grabbing Pete's guitar and taking it from his case before sitting on the bed and beginning to strum away on the out-of-tune strings, "He loved The Rolling Stones and collected all their vinyls. Had this dark brown hair and wore these nerdy glasses. He was the kid who was just lucky enough to get a place with the cool kids, if he hadn't he would have probably been bullied bad by now."

"You act like he's already dead," Patrick mumbles, "I get that he might not come back but you don't have to act like it's already over."

"You never know, Trick," Frank replies, taking his cue to leave as he sets down the guitar, "You don't know how long he'll last out there."

"Shut up," Patrick looks away, grabbing the guitar and putting it away, "Just go back home or something."

Frank shrugs, "Just telling the truth." Then leaves. Pete can't help but feel a little awkward as soon as he's gone. Patrick takes a breath then turns to Pete.

"I'm sorry about th- I mean him," Patrick replies, "He can be kind of an ass sometimes. You want me to put that away for you?"

***

A few days later, Pete gets a letter back from Andrew in shaky, messy writing. He can't help but feel a sense of nostalgia from when they were kids and Drew would scribble out words in his little notebook. He was always afraid of the war back then. Not the cold war, but World War Two. He had nightmares of being taken away by Nazis and on some nights where they had to sleep together, Pete would have to comfort him and remind him that they won't come for him. They were halfway around the world. Of course, that was near the end of it all but that was also when everyone was coming clean and everyone realized just how... how bad it had gotten. About six months later, the war ended, but it still hurt Andrew pretty bad. That's what the writing reminds Pete of. That pure fear.

_     Pete, _

_     I've missed you bad, man, and things have been tough. Seeing your letter really brightened my day. How are things with Patrick so far? Have you met him in person yet? And what about Frank? I forgot to tell you about him, I'm sorry, but I'm not all that fond of him. He seems like kind of an asshole. How do you feel about him? Also I'm really sorry to hear Jason's been giving you a hard time. I'm guessing that whole thing will be over by the time you get this, though. _

_     I miss my hats! They won't let me wear them here, though. I had to throw out my favorite hat. It's like torture. _

_     I don't have much time to write this because I'm due to mail this in ten minutes but it's hard. The generals are strict, the exercise is hard and painful, and every time I think of you it scares me. This scares me. Everything with the war to the loneliness. You know how much stuff like this bothers me. And yeah, I managed to get in a cabin with Mikey, he's a really nice guy. He makes it easier to live here. _

_     Anyways, I hope you're doing okay. Mail me back soon, Pete. _

_     Andrew Wentz _

_     Sent March 3rd, 1969 _

Pete reads over the letter at least three more times before he presses it away into the drawer of his desk and grabs his own piece of paper, picking up a sharpened pencil and beginning to write a letter back to Andrew. He isn't sure where he's going with it but it's one of those nights where everything just seems depressing. Patrick is out at some place, he's been going out nearly every night since Pete moved in, he isn't sure if it's because of him or because Patrick just normally does that, but Pete feels anxious and sad for no reason at all.

    _Andrew,_

_     It's a boring night tonight. Patrick's out for the third time these past four days and I have no idea where he's always going. I'm too afraid to ask, though, he'll probably be mad or something. I'm not sure. Maybe I just don't know him that well but he's intimidating as hell. He's kind of pretty, though, and I know you aren't like me, but I'm into him. Do you know if he's like me? And are him and Frank any more than friends? I know you never told me anything more about him besides the fact that he's a nice guy and he had room for me to move in but... I feel like there's something more to him I guess. You know? I really wanna figure it out. I'll probably ask him about it sometime in the next week. _

_     Frank is sort of an asshole, too. I've talked to him a few times but when I first got here, he was talking to me about Mikey and he kept suggesting that Mikey might not make it through the war. And... I mean I know that it's true. But nothing is for certain and I could see that Patrick was stressed out enough as it is. He didn't deserve another pep talk from Frank about how bad it could be. He otherwise seems like a fairly okay person, he doesn't seem to care about much except for things he's especially passionate about. He also tends to wear a lot of leather. Leather jackets, leather gloves, leather boots, leather pants. It sticks out from the rest of the kids around here who stick to the button up stripe shirts and the baseball caps. I kind of like it, though. It's rebellious in a way. He's brave. Braver than I'll ever be at least. _

_     I'm sorry camp is going bad, I know how bad you can get during times like this but I know you can get through this. Think about all the opportunities you'll have when you're back. Think about everyone who will be here for you when you get back, when the war is over. I know you'll make it. You've always been so brave and this sounds cheesy as hell but you'll make it. I promise you. When you get back we can get our apartment back, and we can put this all to rest. You'll make it. I'm sure of it.  _

    _I hope things with Mikey are going okay. I'm very tired tonight so I think I'm going to head to bed. I've been writing poems in my head all night, it's kind of depressing, rambling on and on to myself with nobody else to speak to, but you're all I really have._

_     "Go to hell" is all I thought for seven weeks _

_ but I grew out of that phase looking at these broken photographs of people _

_ looking glossed just like the way I still remember a summer ago _

_ where can I go when I want you around  _

_ but I can't stand to be around you? _

_ "Go home." _

_ I'll walk myself to you _

_ I'll walk myself away from here _

_     Sleep well, Andrew. _

    _Sincerely,_

_     Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III _

    _Sent March 7th, 1969_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!!!!

March 14, 1969

 

"Good evening, Sir," Pete smiles to the man making his way through the checkout with nothing more than a box of condoms, "Will this be it for you today?"

 

"Yeah," The guy mumbles, lowering his eyes and handing over a quick $2 with flushed cheeks and his hands tight in his pockets just like Pete tends to do. Either tugging at the hem of his shirt or crumpling the fabric of his pockets up between his slender fingers. This guy seems to be sending off that nervous energy, it's probably his first time buying condoms or something.

 

"Thank you, Sir, have a nice day," Pete smiles with a nod before turning to the next person, a woman with short, blond hair, the last in line for the day. She's wearing this bright pink lipstick, eyes deep in eyeliner and eyeshadow and a red dress that covers her body and makes Pete think of Hollywood and celebrities. It's something you could see from a mile away. He immediately starts packing up her groceries after a quick, "Good evening, Ma'am." Bananas, apples, milk, eggs, flour, the normal groceries.

 

"Good evenin', you almost done with your shift, Darling?" The woman asks with a hint of innocence to her expression and a bite to her lip. Pete immediately begins freaking out.

 

"Yes, Ma'am, I am," Pete replies, taking a deep breath as he rings up her total, "That'll be 14.93, Ma'am."

 

She searches through her purse and hands over 15 dollars in three $5. "If you come outside with me for a little while, behind that dumpster, I can show you a good time, we can get to know each other a little better." She drags a finger down Pete's neck to his chest, pulling down his shirt slightly and making the boy immediately flinch. "Maybe you could keep that change you've got there."

 

Pete clears his throat, pulling away awkwardly and grabbing $.07 in change. He finds himself lying right in front of the woman, "I'm sorry, Ma'am, but I have a wife at home and I rather enjoy her company."

 

The woman looks at him with disgust as she takes the change then leaves, grumbling something about. "Prude whores." Pete just takes a breath, turning off the light that shows his lane is open, and begins heading to the back room to pull off his overshirt and instead tug on a coat, it's still the middle of March and it's cold as hell out there. He needs to pack warm. On his way out, he greets farewell to another cashier, Ray, and heads out of the store. with a hat on his head, that old, red baseball cap he brings with himself sometimes to face the cold of oncoming spring. He knows it probably doesn't help much but it's all that he's got. He opens his car door as soon as it's unlocked and heads inside, starting up the cold engine with a new fire. It's 6 in the evening and he knows Patrick's probably starting to head home as well, or he already is home. He's a school teacher at the local elementary school, or at least he says he is. Tyler still isn't sure whether or not he's ready to trust him. He really wishes he could but at the moment, things are hard. Andrew's letters are making it harder on top of that because he's starting to get paranoid as well.

 

Either way, Patrick's a nice person, but he's definitely hiding something under all that blond hair and those leather jackets.

 

Pete brings his car out of park, pulling it forward to begin driving down the street. He sees a couple walking into the store and a few kids riding their bikes on the other side.

 

He takes a breath, letting it release as he continues down the cracked concrete street, following yellow dotted lines and white solids back home. Patrick told him this morning before he left for work that Frank won't be there afterward. That kind of relieved Pete. He's okay with Frank but at the same time, he's not 100% fond of him either. He seems like a nice guy, and like he said in his last letter to Andrew, things are getting easier to bear but still. He's kind of an asshole.

 

It takes about ten minutes to get home, plus twenty with the New York traffic, but when people have stopped honking at him for no apparent reason and people have decided he's not worth cutting off, he arrives home to that mahogany house. The oak tree is growing more and more buds each day, stuck together with sap and bugs and whatever else trees are made up of. Sunlight and water? Tyler doesn't know. Or really care for that fact. Only pulls out of his car, grabbing his bag that contained his lunch, and heading inside the house. Patrick's car is still there, shining a dark black with stains of dirt across the hood, so he's home. He hasn't left for that stupid place yet. He's been growing desperate to know where the hell Patrick always goes. He asked once but Patrick just said it's none of his business and left. He wants to ask again. He's dying of curiosity.

 

Pete unlocks the door, heading in to see Patrick there, putting on his shoes. Pete must have gotten there just in time because those shoes only see the floors of wherever Patrick's going at night. Pete never sees them on his feet anytime else.

 

"Hey, there," Patrick says quietly, lowering his head, "How was work?"

 

"Tiring. Some girl tried to get me to follow her after work," Pete scratches the back of his head awkwardly, "But I didn't do it."

 

"Why not? Wasn't she pretty?" Patrick questions.

 

"Well, I mean, of course, she was but... she just wasn't my type I guess. I don't like sleeping with people just to sleep with people. I'm not like a lot of men." Tyler shoves his hands in his pockets once again. In all honesty, he'd love to sleep with someone just to sleep with them. But he's not straight. Not in the fucking least. It's one of those things he's kind of ashamed of. Maybe he should have gone with that woman.

 

"Ah, I get that. Well, I think you should get a girlfriend soon, y'know? I'm sure she'd be nice. I know lots of girls who would definitely be into you," Patrick replies with a grin as if Pete is the straightest man he knows and all he cares about is getting in bed with some girl he doesn't even know.

 

"I... I think I'm alright, thank you, though," Pete says. He clears his throat as he looks away, "I... I've been meaning to ask you about something, though. And I know you told me to leave it but I'm curious."

 

Patrick frowns, obviously confused at what Pete might want to ask him about. It isn't very often that he asks him anything, much less even talks to him. But this is a rare occasion, curiosity has gotten the best of Pete again. For the second time in the thirteen days, he's lived here.

 

"Where have you been going at night?" Pete finally says, "It's... I know you don't want to talk about it but I don't see the danger in it and... and if you're really hiding something that could risk my safety, I need to know. I don't want to be left out of something that might really need my attention. And-"

 

"It doesn't fucking need your attention," Patrick interrupts, "Quit worrying about it. It doesn't involve you. If you really fucking want to know, it could endanger me if you found out."

 

"Tell me, Patrick."

 

"No, it doesn't fucking involve you." The darker haired boy finishes off his combat boots, then stands and straightens out his coat, "And I swear to God, Wentz, if you even think about following me out, I will make sure you regret it."

 

Pete grips his hand in a fist as Patrick shoves past him and leaves, slamming the door shut on his way out. Pete can't help but punch the door as soon as it's shut growling in frustration. He lives here, too. He deserves to know. He hates being left out of things and most of the time, he'd be too anxious to do anything about it but this... this has lit a spark in him.

 

There's only one way to find out where the hell this asshole goes now.

 

Pete takes a deep breath, calming himself, before he looks out the window realizing, dumbfound, Patrick doesn't even take his damn car. Pete rubs his temples for a moment, then, pulling up his hood and throwing aside his hat, he opens the door, stepping outside into the cool, winter air. Patrick is pretty far ahead already. He has longer legs than Pete, though, and his pace is probably affected by the anger built up from his and Pete's little talk.

 

Either way, Pete has to walk faster so he doesn't lose track of the man. He keeps his hands warm in the blankets of his pockets as he moves on, eyes lowered but at the same time still nipping at Patrick's heels. He doesn't want to be too close behind but he can't lose him either. This whole thing would turn to shit. Patrick takes a left at the end of the block and continues on for several more blocks. They live just outside of the most lit up place in New York. The house is still in a residential neighborhood but not even ten blocks down shows the beginnings of strip clubs, neon signs, and dark alleys. Patrick obviously doesn't seem bothered by it, just passes through the streets, ignoring all the homeless people asking for change and passing through the whores telling him he could give him a good time. He's on a mission, even Pete could see that.

 

Patrick takes a sharp left in an alley, followed soon after by Pete who stays behind at the turn while he continues on. A set of stairs lead down to the basement of the building to their right sit right there, rusty and concrete. Pete watches as Patrick heads down them and disappears from sight. When he hears a little bit of mumbling, then silence, he goes on ahead as well, walking down the stairs, careful to make sure he has his ID on him and possibly some money. This seems like a bar, a place where not many people should go, but end up anyways. Pete isn't sure why Patrick would have to hide something like that from him, but he pushes the thought aside. Maybe he's just embarrassed or something. Maybe he gets a lot of sex. He has no idea.

 

He stops at the bottom of the stairs, though, confronting a man with long, curly hair who has just a few inches on him. Tattoos line his arms and he's smoking a cigarette, wearing a dark leather vest and looking down at Pete like he's a piece of food. He's got these soft blue eyes, though, contrasting the dark, intimidating look. But overall, Pete can't help but take a small step back, flinching away from the stranger.

 

"ID?" He asks.

 

"U-uh," Pete pulls out his driver's license and hands it over. Joe looks at it, then nods, handing it back.

 

"That'll be three dollars," The bouncer mumbles, looking away. Pete immediately pulls it out with a shaky palm and hands it over. "You queer, kid?"

 

Pete blinks, "Does it matter?"

 

The stranger laughs, a deep, harsh chuckle and opens the door, "Go on in, Kid. Have a good time."

 

Pete wastes no time in shoving his wallet into his front pocket and heading inside, but as soon as he does, his eyes widen and he gasps in shock, processing everything he sees.

 

This is a gay club. He sees a few drag queens talking amongst each other about makeup, a twink kissing a bear which doesn't look like it'll end clean. He sees a man going around and giving lap dances to other men and a group of lesbians sitting at the bar. The lights are bright and at the far end of the club, he can see a drag queen on a catwalk, showing herself off. She has this dark brunette hair and a wide jaw that gives herself away. She has dark shades on makeup wise, a dark velvet eyeshadow and purple lips wearing a black dress that covers a completely shaved body. She's beautiful, and everybody loves her with her honeyed skin and her thick lips and dark, weary eyes.

 

Before Pete can stare any longer, though, he's being tugged extremely roughly to the side and socked in the face. Pete immediately cries out and grips his nose with a pained groan and a, "What the fuck, dude?"

 

"Shut up."

 

That's Patrick. Pete's eyes widen hard and he swallows to his dry throat, "Patrick, man. I-I-"

 

Patrick slams him against the wall, gripping his shirt in both fists, "Shut the fuck up, I thought I told you not to follow me. What the fuck do you think you're doing here?"

 

"I needed to know and... and y-you're gay!"

 

"Yes, no shit, I'm fucking gay, and I swear to god if you tell anybody at all, I will make sure you absolutely fucking regret that. Am I understood?" Patrick growls.

 

"I-I-" Pete can't get the words out, he's panicking too much.

 

"I SAID AM I UNDERSTOOD?" Patrick screams. The club goes silent and all eyes turn to Pete and Patrick.

 

Pete's eyes widen and he immediately nods, "Y-yes, you're understood."

 

Patrick huffs, shoving Pete away before walking past him and heading away to a group of other people who Pete hadn't seen. They're hanging around, talking and laughing amongst each other with drinks in their hands and grins across their cheeks but they've gone silent, eyes glued to Patrick. It isn't until Patrick's walked all the way over that Pete realizes Frank's there with them, his dark hair shading his eyes. He's gay, too?

 

"P-Patrick, wait up!" Pete calls, hurrying ahead to try to catch up with the blond. Before he can get far, though, Patrick turns and in a dark growl he says, "Get the fuck out of here before I call a security guard and force you out for being the only straight person here."

 

"I'm not even straight," Pete whimpers.

 

"I. Don't. Care."

 

And just like that, Patrick shoves Pete away and heads to the group. Pete stares for a good five minutes but when he feels eyes still on him, he begins peeling himself away and forces himself out the door on shaky, afraid legs.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter kinda sucked, sorry, i promise the next few chapters will be a bit better though :)

March 14, 1969

 

Pete slowly shuts the door and slips off his jacket, fear and adrenaline slow in his movements as he takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself. He's still processing everything, that drag queen is still walking through his mind, Patrick's yelling is still ringing through his ears and despite everything, he just can't bring himself to go back. He wants to, he wants to apologize to Patrick and he wants to make it up to him because he knew he shouldn't have gone there but he did. It's 8 by now, the grandfather clock is chiming beside the wall and he feels sick to his stomach. 

 

It's not because Patrick was rude. It's not because Patrick screamed at him in front of everybody at the bar and he was forced to leave. It isn't even that Patrick was hiding anything from him. It's because Patrick is gay, and he never had the slightest idea. It's because he's felt so damn alone about this for so damn long and it had gotten to the point where he was ashamed of himself. The only person he ever told was Andrew. The only person who knew was his brother. And he kept everybody else in the dark. His parents, his friends, his coworkers. He never knew a single soul who was gay or queer or anything besides himself. 

 

And here's Patrick, completely unashamed. Completely okay with it. Pete never thought the day would come. He never thought anybody else would feel the same was as he did... 

 

Pete manages to drag himself up to his room, slowly calming himself down and thinking to himself about it all, just adjusting and processing and remembering everything that happened. He sits on his bed, and for the next hour, he thinks, and he cries and he just lets everything out. And eventually, when all his emotions have finished crashing down on him, he stands and heads to his desk, taking a seat and grabbing a paper and pencil. His last letter from Andrew was just a few days ago. His objective has been changed from the cold war and he's instead being deployed in Vietnam. He won't be able to send or receive any letters after the 20th because by then, he'll have a gun in his hands and he'll be leaving in a plane for Asia.

 

    _Andrew,_

 

_I followed Patrick out of the house today after he left for wherever he's been going. I followed him downtown and I went into this club. It was a gay club, though. And when he saw me, he yelled at me. But what really made me feel so conflicted was the fact that he is gay. I didn't know. I had no idea. There was absolutely nothing that showed it off. And I told him right then and there that I was, too. I think it was out of anxiety and just generally feeling out of place and not in the right mind because everyone was staring at us._

 

_Frank was there, too. And a bunch of other people I didn't know. And there was this drag queen there that caught my eye. She was beautiful. You should have seen her. And there were lesbians and twinks and bears and lipsticks and butches. It was so amazing. I've never been to a gay bar before. I guess I've just been too nervous._

 

_Anyways, I hope you're doing okay. Tonight was very eventful and I feel exhausted. I hope Vietnam goes well for you. I need to sleep._

 

_Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III_

_Sent March 14th, 1969_

 

***

 

Pete doesn't talk to Patrick through the next four days. The fifteenth and the sixteens are a Saturday and Sunday. Patrick spends the day out at the club and Pete plays guitar and listens to The Beatles, smoking cigars on the front steps of their house. A few kids stop to watch for a bit but eventually leave when he begins playing Can't Help Falling In Love. That song's eight years old already, the kids these days wouldn't know it that well.

 

He just continues smoking that cigar and playing that guitar, completely ignoring Patrick when he gets home with some guy who's biting his lip and giving Patrick these "fuck me" eyes. He's tall, much taller than Patrick, then again everyone has at least 3 inches on the poor kid, and his hair is charcoal, eyes dark brown with a gleam to them that Pete wishes he still had.

 

Either way, Pete knows he won't be welcomed in the house for the next couple hours. The curtains shut and Pete keeps playing. Everything from Paint It Black and Angie to Here Comes the Sun and Blackbird and all the way back to Can't Help Falling in Love. He finds himself playing that a good few times. He isn't entirely sure why, maybe because he swears to god he can hear Patrick and that other kid's gasps and moans and he can't help but feel a wave of loneliness crash through him at the thought. Maybe it's because no matter how hard he tries, he can't bring himself to just leave.

 

He just keeps playing it. Over and over, fingers gentle, swaying with the breeze that's coming through. The moon is high in the sky, and the stars are smiling at him. He isn't sure why, but he lets the confusion pass and just accepts it. A few hours later, he's sitting there still. He guesses it must be half past midnight, and he has work tomorrow but he's beginning to not care. His guitar sits in his lap, still as a statue and he is, too, just watching the cars pass and listening to the silence, the ringing in his ears, the creaking from inside the house.

 

Patrick comes out another few minutes later, shirtless right behind Pete followed by the other lankier kid.

 

"Thanks again, Gabe, it means a lot," Patrick says.

 

"No problem, man," The stranger-Gabe-nods.

 

Pete watches Gabe walk past him with a little bit of a limp in his step, and on to head back to the club or home. Pete can't tell. All he really cares about is the fact that Patrick didn't just head back inside and he can feel those eyes gazing into the back of his skull. after a short breath, Patrick parts his lips.

 

"You could have come in, y'know. We stayed in the bedroom."

 

"I don't care," Pete replies, standing and heading past Patrick.

 

"What's your problem?" Patrick growls, following Pete back inside.

 

"My problem?" Pete turns nearly slamming his guitar against the wall in the process. "You wanna know my problem? My problem is that you just don't let me go back to that stupid club even though you know I'm gay. My problem is that you brought another guy into the house and didn't even ask me. My problem is that I've grown up my entire life thinking that nobody else feels the way I do, and then hear that you're gay, and I just... I'm just... it's a lot to process."

 

"What? The fact that the world doesn't revolve around you? Amazing! Do you want a gold medal for that?" Patrick replies, "And you _know_ this is my house. I can bring in whoever I want. It isn't any of your business anyways. What's _really_ bothering you, huh?"

 

"Fuck off," Pete growls, bumping past Patrick to head upstairs but before he can, Patrick's yanking him back.

 

"Tell me, Pete!" Patrick barks. Their eyes meet and Pete's glaring at Patrick with a look that even the bravest of souls wouldn't fuck with. But Patrick still keeps him there, and he still waits for him to respond. And Pete has to fucking admit, he's never wanted to kiss Patrick more than he does in that moment. He has no idea why that idea hits him like a punch to the stomach or why it hits so hard, but when it does, it makes sense in a completely nonsensical way.

 

Pete has three choices here. Kiss the kid holding him back and possibly make this 100 times worse, tell him what's bothering him, or leave for his room. He immediately knocks off the first option, there's no way he's doing that. This guy's a fucking asshole, why the hell would it even come up? He doesn't want to seem weak overall, so he knocks off the second option as well and just like that, he's nudging past Patrick and heading upstairs, slamming his door shut on the way in.

 

He doesn't come out until the next morning when he has to leave for work. His head is crowded and aching as he makes his way out of bed and into the shower, the droplets of water raining down on him like the tears  that racked through his body that night. He can feel the water hot, burning his skin and the clock on the wall reads 5:12. He's too tired to go to work. Too exhausted to see anybody. He just wants to crawl back into bed and sleep.

 

Patrick is downstairs, sipping on coffee when Pete comes down, his eyes are glued to the newspaper, dead silent. Pete considers skipping breakfast and just leaving. But he forces himself to at least make some toast. He pulls down the lever, then grabs himself a cup of coffee, adding just a hint of cream to go with it. All through this, Patrick doesn't make a sound but it isn't until Pete turns around and takes a seat on the chair that he finally looks up and their eyes meet.

 

"I'm sorry," Patrick immediately says, his tongue working faster than his brain.

 

"It's okay," Pete replies, and after a bit of thought he adds, "I-I am, too."

 

"I just..." The blond swallows, "I just tend to get defensive sometimes. And I should have been more open I just... I didn't think you were gay, too. Y'know? It's... it's not a normal thing."

 

"Yeah." Is all the guitarist replies.

 

"Do you want to come with me to meet everyone this Friday? They're really nice. And they're all queer in one way or another, too. I wanna make up how rude I've been. Would that be okay?"

 

Pete nods and replies, "That would be great."

 

The shorter smiles,  "Great. Uh... I have to get going but I'll talk to you later tonight I guess, yeah?"

 

"Yeah... Sure."

 

"You have mail by the way, it came in last night," Patrick nods to the letter on the countertop, their address clear and Andrew's name up in the left-hand corner.

 

"Thank you."

 

***

 

_Pete,_

 

_That's crazy, I never would have expected someone like Patrick to be gay. I'm happy that you know someone else like that, though. It's really great that you've found more people like you. I know you tend to get really lonely sometimes so I wish you luck on it all. I hope things get better for you with everything._

 

_I'm being deployed on the twentieth, like I said, and they said I should be back by the thirtieth of April. It shouldn't be too long, that's only about forty days. We're working on taking land in the western area and heading farther East, wish me luck. I'm afraid it'll be the last I'll get. Mikey isn't being deployed anytime soon, they say he's not ready yet, but should hopefully get there soon. He's got too much bone and not enough muscle, so they're going to put him on a better diet. Hopefully it should work out. I hope that Patrick isn't too bothered by that, though._

 

_Take it easy, little bro. I know things can be tough but I promise you by the end of this, when people finally realize homosexuality isn't bad and the cold war is over and the Vietnam war comes to a truce, we'll be in a better place. You won't have to live in fear anymore. I promise._

 

_I'll see you soon._

 

_Andrew_

_Sent March 16, 1969_


	4. Chapter 4

March 21, 1969

"Are you ready to go, Pete?" Patrick calls from the front door, his boots on and a leather jacket covered in patches and pins covering his shoulders. Pete has nothing but a t-shirt and a long overcoat along with a pair of slim-cut jeans he stole from Andrew years ago. His brother never asked for them back, he didn't even realize they were gone. Then again, Andrew has always been the type of person to wear a single pair of jeans for weeks at a time. Overall, Pete's outfit is somewhat casual with a hint of fanciness to it. Nothing like what Patrick's wearing - punk, ragged, careless.

"Yeah," Pete replies, taking a breath out of nervousness just before checking to make sure he has his wallet, "Are you?"

Patrick nods, wasting no time in opening the door and heading outside, a cigarette lit in his mouth, "Do you want one?"

"Please," Pete replies, shutting the door and taking one. They share the lighter for a moment, then start heading on, smoke trailing them into the cloudy night sky. They head downtown, walking side-by-side and making occasional comments but for the most part keeping a steady, awkward silence that hangs over them like a raincloud. Eventually, though, Pete finds the will to begin asking more questions and the conversation settles into a small back and forth chatter about each other. In all honesty, Pete doesn't know much about Patrick. He's a bit of an asshole, yeah, but when he needs to be, he can be sensitive. He's gay and he has a close friend named Mikey who knows Andrew. But that isn't much to go on.

By the time they're at the alleyway, Pete's learned that Patrick grew up in Chicago and moved to New York a few years ago and met Frank. They became good friends and eventually, Frank brought Patrick in to meet a few of his friends at the club, which Pete learned is called The Ninth Circle, and he immediately fit in. Patrick's been going in as a friend of the owner's now and he doesn't have to pay anymore. It's nice. And it's a place that Patrick's learned to appreciate.

Since then, Patrick's been much less lonely than before, has had friends and people who understand how he feels. It's pulled him out of a sadness that he'd felt a long while ago. 

Meanwhile, Pete told Patrick about how he'd graduated high school and, unable to find an interesting profession, went into general work with being a grocer. It's just enough to cover his half of the house his brother and him bought, and it's been like that for several years. Now, Pete's in his twenties and still as much of a nervous wreck as he was just a few years ago.

"I promise, once you meet my friends, you'll feel at least a little better," Patrick says, flashing his ID to the bouncer, "Hey, Joe."

"Hey there," Joe nods, his tattoos dark on his arms, "Haven't I seen him around here before?"

"This is my friend, Pete," Patrick nods, handing over $4, "He came around last Friday."

"Good," Joe nods, "Always nice to get new customers in,"

Patrick nods, nudging Pete in, "Thanks, Joe."

"Anytime."

Patrick and Pete make their way inside, Pete has his hands deep in his pockets and Patrick is walking in front of him, shoulders rolled back and neck popping as he twists it from one side to the other. The lights are neon today, bright pinks and blues and purples. There are three drag queens standing on the stage all in a row looking across at each other with their hands on their hips and false breasts on their chests. The one on the far left has long, black hair, dark skin, and bright red lipstick with a large ass and at least double D size breasts. She's overweight but it fits her well with a sassy look that only a true drag queen could pull off. Beside her is a blond queen, hips swayed to the side with a beautiful black dress covered in small, white, paper machete flowers along with an umbrella that matches just the same. Finally, at the very end is the same drag queen he saw that last Friday. The one with brunette hair. This time, though, she's wearing a black wig and sporting a bright red style. A dress with a pair of handmade angel wings attached to the back. It takes Pete's breath away, 

"You see the girl on the very right? The one in the red?" Patrick says. Pete nods, "That's Brenda Love. She's beautiful and out of costume, he's a really nice guy. His name's Brendon."

"All you men, women, and non-genders, listen up!" A man calls throughout the room, "Your votes have been tallied up and the winner will now be announced. Let's take a round of applause for our contestants. On the left with twenty-three wins at The Ninth Circle, we have Roxilicious!" A cheer erupts from the audience, "Anya Knees!" A short laughter follows, "And finally, Brenda Love! Now, the winner of tonights drag race is..." He waits for a long moment, the audience getting more and more hyped as Pete and Patrick continue on to the row of couches beside the stage where Patrick's friends sit.

"Brenda Love!"

Cheering is heard throughout the audience and Brenda grins big and bright, raising her arms in the air in celebration. Pete smiles slightly, driving his attention away to the people at the couches, grinning and laughing, holding drinks and cheering on their friend but soon after, the cheers die down and the crowd standing in front of the stage head their separate ways. Patrick leans back, groaning in relief as he nudges into Frank's arm, a grin across his lips.

"Hey there, Patrick," Frank grins, "What's up with Pete? Why's he here? Isn't he a het?"

"Nope," Patrick replies, rising to his feet despite the temptation of staying in Frank's arms. Instead, he begins confronting everyone else who now has their attention on the blond, "Everyone, this is Pete. He's cis, gay, mono... I'm pretty sure at least, right?"

"M-Mono? Cis?" Pete frowns.

"Monogamous means you only date one person at a time. Cisgender means you're not trans or aren't non-gender. And... what are your pronouns? He/him, right?"

Patrick blinks, then nods, "Y-yeah. Cisgender, monogamous, he/him... I'm just a standard, everyday gay dude." He looks around, noticing suddenly that that Gabe guy is here, too. His eyes fixed on Pete, leaning against a taller, darker man with a dark afro.

"You obviously already know me," Patrick says, "I'm Patrick, he/him, gay, monogamous, cisgender." He nods off to his right to a pair of girls cuddling extremely close. One has bright orange hair and brown eyes wearing slim jeans and a light t-shirt. The other girl, who's much taller, is wearing a short cut skirt and fishnet leggins under a pair of leather boots. A leather vest covers her shoulders - much like Patrick's. The redhaired girl goes first, biting her lip as she looks over at Pete.

"I'm Hayley, Cisgender, Monogamous, Lesbian, and uh... she/her, please," She looks over at the other, darker haired girl and after a bit of mumbling and giggling, the one with the skirt replies, "I'm Lindsey. Half non-gender, half cisgender, monogamous, she/her or they/them, lesbian."

"What does that mean?" Pete asks before he can think twice, "I-I mean. Half cisgender and half non-gender. What even is non-gender? I-I'm sorry, I've just never heard about any of this and it's really new... I don't know much."

Lindsey smiles at him but doesn't criticize him, only replies with an understanding tone, "Non-genders are people who don't really fit as a boy or a girl. I'm somewhat a girl and at the same time I'm somewhat neither if that makes sense. Non-gender people can also be a androgynous, a mix of the two... pretty much anyone who isn't 100% male or 100% female, y'know?"

Pete processes that for a moment, "Okay. Makes sense."

Patrick nods to the next person, Pete can't really tell exactly... what they are but he guesses they're a non-gender by the way they have their hair long and wavy but also hold a bit of masculinity to their jawline. They have bright red hair and wear a sleeveless, black top and ebony leather jeans. They part their lips and looking right at Pete with dark eyes, says, "I'm G. They/them, polyamorous, pansexual, androgynous, and..." Looking at Patrick they say, "What else? Is that it?"

"Yeah. Gabe?"

The dark haired boy is up next with his twinky frame and his large grin, "I'm Gabe. He/him, aromantic, pansexual, polyamorous, cisgender. This is my boyfriend/fuckbuddy, Travie."

"He/him, aro, pan, poly, cis," Travie finishes just before kissing his boyfriend soft on the lips, "Brendon's here."

Everyone's eyes turn to the drag queen, now out of costume. His hair is styled neat and tidy and brunette, a fedora resting on the top of his long head and dark brown eyes gazing across the crowd of queers, "Hey guys!" He says it in an exaggerated tone but Pete didn't expect anything different, "What's up?"

"Nothing much, Bren, just introducing everyone to Pete here," Patrick replies, "It's his first time in here or... any gay bar for that fact. We're going around. Name, pronouns, sexuality, gender, and whether or not you're poly."

"Ah! I love introductions," Brendon plops down right next to a couple twinks sit, one grinding slightly on the other's lap, "I'm Brendon, or Brenda, or Bren. I'm polyamorous, and bi, and cisgender, and I prefer he/him pronouns! Also, I'm a drag queen. I just won $100!"

Everyone cheers, the top twink patting Brendon on the back. Eventually, though, it dies down again and Patrick's attention turns to the guy right of Travie. He's tall and has lanky legs and dark brunette hair. His face is narrow and lines under bags show deep under his eyes, "I'm Dallon or Dal. He/him, they/them, she/her. Genderfluid, asexual, somewhat romantic, polyamorous."

"What does genderfluid mean? Or somewhat romantic? And pansexual?" Pete whispers to Patrick.

"Genderfluid is someone who sometimes feels like a guy, sometimes feels like a girl, sometimes feels like both, and sometimes feels like neither. And he just finds it generally hard to fall in love. That's why he says somewhat romantic. And pansexual is attraction to everyone regardless of gender. That includes non-genders."

Pete nods, leaning back again as the next couple go, passing onto the twinks. The one sitting on the other's lap has short brown hair and is wearing a good layer of makeup. His entire right cheek holds a flock of crows or ravens or sparrows flying into the orange-red blend across his eyes. He's wearing a dark leather vest over a red shirt and jeans that cling to the slim frame of his legs. The boy behind him, sitting on the couch, has much longer, lighter brown hair and these hazel eyes that Pete's eyes could get lost in for hours on end. The one with the shorter hair goes first.

"I'm Ry, monogamous, demisexual, gay, half-cisgender, half non-gender... he/him, they/them..." He looks back at the other boy who only bites down on his neck and replies, "I'm Will. Mono, Cis, gay, he/him."

Ryan looks to his right, past Brendon and onto the last two boys on the couch, to Patrick's left. One has bright red hair and is wearing a baseball cap on backwards while the other sports short, sable hair and has a pair of empty eyes above his feminine cheeks. When he parts his lips, though, his voice comes out high pitched and Patrick realizes he isn't a cis guy.

"I'm Tyler. He/him, poly, transboy, pansexual. And I'm in a poly relationship with Brendon and Josh," He nods on to Josh who looks bored and tired.

"I'm Josh, he/him, poly, gay, cis," He nudges in closer to Tyler, shutting his eyes, "And I fucking love to sleep."

"Weirdo," Tyler mumbles. Josh grins.

Pete looks to his right at Patrick expectantly but before he can say anything, a voice echoes behind him and he looks back to see Frank there giving off the final introduction, "I'm Frank. They/them, monogamous, agender, pansexual."

Patrick nods, leaning back and confronting everyone, "Thanks guys. Welcome him in well. He's a nice dude even if he doesn't know much."

Some people nod, some go back to their conversation, but before he knows it, Patrick's left him, going off with Travie and Gabe this time and Pete's left alone, wondering if he could get hooked up like that. He looks around awkwardly, unsure of what to do. Brendon, Tyler, and Josh are all talking amongst each other, Tyler complaining about how much his chest has hurt from binding lately while Josh and Brendon tell him he needs to stop for a little bit and just wear baggy clothing or something until they can afford the surgery. Beside them, Ryan is whispering to Will about something, eying Pete in the process and making the dark haired boy squirm.

Then on, there's Dallon who's mumbling something to G about skirts he wants to get and G is laughing back in their soft, groggy voice about how they just steal them from their mom. Dallon grins and so does Frank who's eavesdropping in on the conversation. When he looks to the very right, he sees Lindsey and Hayley have risen to their feet, Hayley heading toward Pete with soft eyes and parting her cherry lips. the bar and pulling Lindsey along with her. Pete can't help but feel a little out of place, and he pulls his knees up to his chest as he looks up at the stage to a man stripping on stage to a song he barely knows.

"Do you wanna go out for a smoke?"

Pete's head jerks to the left and in front of him stands Ryan, Will just behind him. He lets that sink in, Ryan obviously wants him for much more than just a smoke. Maybe to talk or maybe for sex, he isn't sure, but he agrees anyways, rising to his feet and following William and Ryan out the front, passing by Joe. Ryan tells him they'll be right back and Pete just trails behind, hands in the deep pockets of his overcoat. Ryan pulls out a pack of cigarettes and hands one to each of them before lighting a match and igniting the ends of all three before the wick burns out. Ryan leans against the alley wall, shutting his eyes while Will stands beside him and Pete takes a place, leaning on the wall on Ryan's other side.

"So," Ryan clears their throat, "How did Patrick find out you were queer, huh?"

"Oh, uh," Pete looks away, a little flushed at the question, "I dunno. I... I followed him here last Friday and uh... I kinda yelled it at him when we got into a fight."

"That was you? I was wondering what that fight was about," Will mumbles, "You're brave, standing up to Patrick like that. I mean, he's a great friend and all but sometimes he can be an asshole. Frank, too."

"Yeah," Pete looks away, taking another drag, "I dunno, I just... I didn't think he of all people would be, y'know? I've never actually met another gay er... queer person in my life. Everyone I know, besides my brother, are a bunch of homophobes or transphobes."

"I get that," Ryan replies, "You know Bren, the drag queen, his last wife beat him when he came out as bi and he's never really been the same. It's horrible what people do to the LGBT community these days... horrible."

"My dad has always said that if I came out as a queer, I'd be sent off to Creedmoor. The psychiatric center in Queens? It's horrible," Will whispers, "I... I didn't mean to make this depressing... I'm sorry... I..."

He trails off, looking down at his feet, Ryan immediately takes his hand as he takes another drag, "It's fucked. The whole system is fucked."

Pete nods, he agrees with that, "I wish things could be better."

"Me too," Will says, their fingers shaking, "You're a good person, Pete."

"Yeah," Ryan agrees, a smile on their lips.

Pete nods, swallows, and takes a deep drag, exhaling soon after, watching the smoke disappear up into the air, above the city lights and up where nobody will ever find it again.

Up where Pete can't help but wish he could be.


	6. Chapter 6

March 21, 1969

"Are you ready to go, Pete?" Patrick calls from the front door, his boots on and a leather jacket covered in patches and pins covering his shoulders. Pete has nothing but a t-shirt and a long overcoat along with a pair of slim-cut jeans he stole from Andrew years ago. His brother never asked for them back, he didn't even realize they were gone. Then again, Andrew has always been the type of person to wear a single pair of jeans for weeks at a time. Overall, Pete's outfit is somewhat casual with a hint of fanciness to it. Nothing like what Patrick's wearing - punk, ragged, careless.

"Yeah," Pete replies, taking a breath out of nervousness just before checking to make sure he has his wallet, "Are you?"

Patrick nods, wasting no time in opening the door and heading outside, a cigarette lit in his mouth, "Do you want one?"

"Please," Pete replies, shutting the door and taking one. They share the lighter for a moment, then start heading on, smoke trailing them into the cloudy night sky. They head downtown, walking side-by-side and making occasional comments but for the most part keeping a steady, awkward silence that hangs over them like a raincloud. Eventually, though, Pete finds the will to begin asking more questions and the conversation settles into a small back and forth chatter about each other. In all honesty, Pete doesn't know much about Patrick. He's a bit of an asshole, yeah, but when he needs to be, he can be sensitive. He's gay and he has a close friend named Mikey who knows Andrew. But that isn't much to go on.

By the time they're at the alleyway, Pete's learned that Patrick grew up in Chicago and moved to New York a few years ago and met Frank. They became good friends and eventually, Frank brought Patrick in to meet a few of his friends at the club, which Pete learned is called The Ninth Circle, and he immediately fit in. Patrick's been going in as a friend of the owner's now and he doesn't have to pay anymore. It's nice. And it's a place that Patrick's learned to appreciate.

Since then, Patrick's been much less lonely than before, has had friends and people who understand how he feels. It's pulled him out of a sadness that he'd felt a long while ago. 

Meanwhile, Pete told Patrick about how he'd graduated high school and, unable to find an interesting profession, went into general work with being a grocer. It's just enough to cover his half of the house his brother and him bought, and it's been like that for several years. Now, Pete's in his twenties and still as much of a nervous wreck as he was just a few years ago.

"I promise, once you meet my friends, you'll feel at least a little better," Patrick says, flashing his ID to the bouncer, "Hey, Joe."

"Hey there," Joe nods, his tattoos dark on his arms, "Haven't I seen him around here before?"

"This is my friend, Pete," Patrick nods, handing over $4, "He came around last Friday."

"Good," Joe nods, "Always nice to get new customers in,"

Patrick nods, nudging Pete in, "Thanks, Joe."

"Anytime."

Patrick and Pete make their way inside, Pete has his hands deep in his pockets and Patrick is walking in front of him, shoulders rolled back and neck popping as he twists it from one side to the other. The lights are neon today, bright pinks and blues and purples. There are three drag queens standing on the stage all in a row looking across at each other with their hands on their hips and false breasts on their chests. The one on the far left has long, black hair, dark skin, and bright red lipstick with a large ass and at least double D size breasts. She's overweight but it fits her well with a sassy look that only a true drag queen could pull off. Beside her is a blond queen, hips swayed to the side with a beautiful black dress covered in small, white, paper machete flowers along with an umbrella that matches just the same. Finally, at the very end is the same drag queen he saw that last Friday. The one with brunette hair. This time, though, she's wearing a black wig and sporting a bright red style. A dress with a pair of handmade angel wings attached to the back. It takes Pete's breath away, 

"You see the girl on the very right? The one in the red?" Patrick says. Pete nods, "That's Brenda Love. She's beautiful and out of costume, he's a really nice guy. His name's Brendon."

"All you men, women, and non-genders, listen up!" A man calls throughout the room, "Your votes have been tallied up and the winner will now be announced. Let's take a round of applause for our contestants. On the left with twenty-three wins at The Ninth Circle, we have Roxilicious!" A cheer erupts from the audience, "Anya Knees!" A short laughter follows, "And finally, Brenda Love! Now, the winner of tonights drag race is..." He waits for a long moment, the audience getting more and more hyped as Pete and Patrick continue on to the row of couches beside the stage where Patrick's friends sit.

"Brenda Love!"

Cheering is heard throughout the audience and Brenda grins big and bright, raising her arms in the air in celebration. Pete smiles slightly, driving his attention away to the people at the couches, grinning and laughing, holding drinks and cheering on their friend but soon after, the cheers die down and the crowd standing in front of the stage head their separate ways. Patrick leans back, groaning in relief as he nudges into Frank's arm, a grin across his lips.

"Hey there, Patrick," Frank grins, "What's up with Pete? Why's he here? Isn't he a het?"

"Nope," Patrick replies, rising to his feet despite the temptation of staying in Frank's arms. Instead, he begins confronting everyone else who now has their attention on the blond, "Everyone, this is Pete. He's cis, gay, mono... I'm pretty sure at least, right?"

"M-Mono? Cis?" Pete frowns.

"Monogamous means you only date one person at a time. Cisgender means you're not trans or aren't non-gender. And... what are your pronouns? He/him, right?"

Patrick blinks, then nods, "Y-yeah. Cisgender, monogamous, he/him... I'm just a standard, everyday gay dude." He looks around, noticing suddenly that that Gabe guy is here, too. His eyes fixed on Pete, leaning against a taller, darker man with a dark afro.

"You obviously already know me," Patrick says, "I'm Patrick, he/him, gay, monogamous, cisgender." He nods off to his right to a pair of girls cuddling extremely close. One has bright orange hair and brown eyes wearing slim jeans and a light t-shirt. The other girl, who's much taller, is wearing a short cut skirt and fishnet leggins under a pair of leather boots. A leather vest covers her shoulders - much like Patrick's. The redhaired girl goes first, biting her lip as she looks over at Pete.

"I'm Hayley, Cisgender, Monogamous, Lesbian, and uh... she/her, please," She looks over at the other, darker haired girl and after a bit of mumbling and giggling, the one with the skirt replies, "I'm Lindsey. Half non-gender, half cisgender, monogamous, she/her or they/them, lesbian."

"What does that mean?" Pete asks before he can think twice, "I-I mean. Half cisgender and half non-gender. What even is non-gender? I-I'm sorry, I've just never heard about any of this and it's really new... I don't know much."

Lindsey smiles at him but doesn't criticize him, only replies with an understanding tone, "Non-genders are people who don't really fit as a boy or a girl. I'm somewhat a girl and at the same time I'm somewhat neither if that makes sense. Non-gender people can also be a androgynous, a mix of the two... pretty much anyone who isn't 100% male or 100% female, y'know?"

Pete processes that for a moment, "Okay. Makes sense."

Patrick nods to the next person, Pete can't really tell exactly... what they are but he guesses they're a non-gender by the way they have their hair long and wavy but also hold a bit of masculinity to their jawline. They have bright red hair and wear a sleeveless, black top and ebony leather jeans. They part their lips and looking right at Pete with dark eyes, says, "I'm G. They/them, polyamorous, pansexual, androgynous, and..." Looking at Patrick they say, "What else? Is that it?"

"Yeah. Gabe?"

The dark haired boy is up next with his twinky frame and his large grin, "I'm Gabe. He/him, aromantic, pansexual, polyamorous, cisgender. This is my boyfriend/fuckbuddy, Travie."

"He/him, aro, pan, poly, cis," Travie finishes just before kissing his boyfriend soft on the lips, "Brendon's here."

Everyone's eyes turn to the drag queen, now out of costume. His hair is styled neat and tidy and brunette, a fedora resting on the top of his long head and dark brown eyes gazing across the crowd of queers, "Hey guys!" He says it in an exaggerated tone but Pete didn't expect anything different, "What's up?"

"Nothing much, Bren, just introducing everyone to Pete here," Patrick replies, "It's his first time in here or... any gay bar for that fact. We're going around. Name, pronouns, sexuality, gender, and whether or not you're poly."

"Ah! I love introductions," Brendon plops down right next to a couple twinks sit, one grinding slightly on the other's lap, "I'm Brendon, or Brenda, or Bren. I'm polyamorous, and bi, and cisgender, and I prefer he/him pronouns! Also, I'm a drag queen. I just won $100!"

Everyone cheers, the top twink patting Brendon on the back. Eventually, though, it dies down again and Patrick's attention turns to the guy right of Travie. He's tall and has lanky legs and dark brunette hair. His face is narrow and lines under bags show deep under his eyes, "I'm Dallon or Dal. He/him, they/them, she/her. Genderfluid, asexual, somewhat romantic, polyamorous."

"What does genderfluid mean? Or somewhat romantic? And pansexual?" Pete whispers to Patrick.

"Genderfluid is someone who sometimes feels like a guy, sometimes feels like a girl, sometimes feels like both, and sometimes feels like neither. And he just finds it generally hard to fall in love. That's why he says somewhat romantic. And pansexual is attraction to everyone regardless of gender. That includes non-genders."

Pete nods, leaning back again as the next couple go, passing onto the twinks. The one sitting on the other's lap has short brown hair and is wearing a good layer of makeup. His entire right cheek holds a flock of crows or ravens or sparrows flying into the orange-red blend across his eyes. He's wearing a dark leather vest over a red shirt and jeans that cling to the slim frame of his legs. The boy behind him, sitting on the couch, has much longer, lighter brown hair and these hazel eyes that Pete's eyes could get lost in for hours on end. The one with the shorter hair goes first.

"I'm Ry, monogamous, demisexual, gay, half-cisgender, half non-gender... he/him, they/them..." He looks back at the other boy who only bites down on his neck and replies, "I'm Will. Mono, Cis, gay, he/him."

Ryan looks to his right, past Brendon and onto the last two boys on the couch, to Patrick's left. One has bright red hair and is wearing a baseball cap on backwards while the other sports short, sable hair and has a pair of empty eyes above his feminine cheeks. When he parts his lips, though, his voice comes out high pitched and Patrick realizes he isn't a cis guy.

"I'm Tyler. He/him, poly, transboy, pansexual. And I'm in a poly relationship with Brendon and Josh," He nods on to Josh who looks bored and tired.

"I'm Josh, he/him, poly, gay, cis," He nudges in closer to Tyler, shutting his eyes, "And I fucking love to sleep."

"Weirdo," Tyler mumbles. Josh grins.

Pete looks to his right at Patrick expectantly but before he can say anything, a voice echoes behind him and he looks back to see Frank there giving off the final introduction, "I'm Frank. They/them, monogamous, agender, pansexual."

Patrick nods, leaning back and confronting everyone, "Thanks guys. Welcome him in well. He's a nice dude even if he doesn't know much."

Some people nod, some go back to their conversation, but before he knows it, Patrick's left him, going off with Travie and Gabe this time and Pete's left alone, wondering if he could get hooked up like that. He looks around awkwardly, unsure of what to do. Brendon, Tyler, and Josh are all talking amongst each other, Tyler complaining about how much his chest has hurt from binding lately while Josh and Brendon tell him he needs to stop for a little bit and just wear baggy clothing or something until they can afford the surgery. Beside them, Ryan is whispering to Will about something, eying Pete in the process and making the dark haired boy squirm.

Then on, there's Dallon who's mumbling something to G about skirts he wants to get and G is laughing back in their soft, groggy voice about how they just steal them from their mom. Dallon grins and so does Frank who's eavesdropping in on the conversation. When he looks to the very right, he sees Lindsey and Hayley have risen to their feet, Hayley heading toward Pete with soft eyes and parting her cherry lips. the bar and pulling Lindsey along with her. Pete can't help but feel a little out of place, and he pulls his knees up to his chest as he looks up at the stage to a man stripping on stage to a song he barely knows.

"Do you wanna go out for a smoke?"

Pete's head jerks to the left and in front of him stands Ryan, Will just behind him. He lets that sink in, Ryan obviously wants him for much more than just a smoke. Maybe to talk or maybe for sex, he isn't sure, but he agrees anyways, rising to his feet and following William and Ryan out the front, passing by Joe. Ryan tells him they'll be right back and Pete just trails behind, hands in the deep pockets of his overcoat. Ryan pulls out a pack of cigarettes and hands one to each of them before lighting a match and igniting the ends of all three before the wick burns out. Ryan leans against the alley wall, shutting his eyes while Will stands beside him and Pete takes a place, leaning on the wall on Ryan's other side.

"So," Ryan clears their throat, "How did Patrick find out you were queer, huh?"

"Oh, uh," Pete looks away, a little flushed at the question, "I dunno. I... I followed him here last Friday and uh... I kinda yelled it at him when we got into a fight."

"That was you? I was wondering what that fight was about," Will mumbles, "You're brave, standing up to Patrick like that. I mean, he's a great friend and all but sometimes he can be an asshole. Frank, too."

"Yeah," Pete looks away, taking another drag, "I dunno, I just... I didn't think he of all people would be, y'know? I've never actually met another gay er... queer person in my life. Everyone I know, besides my brother, are a bunch of homophobes or transphobes."

"I get that," Ryan replies, "You know Bren, the drag queen, his last wife beat him when he came out as bi and he's never really been the same. It's horrible what people do to the LGBT community these days... horrible."

"My dad has always said that if I came out as a queer, I'd be sent off to Creedmoor. The psychiatric center in Queens? It's horrible," Will whispers, "I... I didn't mean to make this depressing... I'm sorry... I..."

He trails off, looking down at his feet, Ryan immediately takes his hand as he takes another drag, "It's fucked. The whole system is fucked."

Pete nods, he agrees with that, "I wish things could be better."

"Me too," Will says, their fingers shaking, "You're a good person, Pete."

"Yeah," Ryan agrees, a smile on their lips.

Pete nods, swallows, and takes a deep drag, exhaling soon after, watching the smoke disappear up into the air, above the city lights and up where nobody will ever find it again.

Up where Pete can't help but wish he could be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My life has turned into a pile of shit and I'm sorry I didn't upload yesterday. Like always comments, kudos, and reads are appreciated <3


	7. Chapter 7

June 16, 1969

"Hey! Will!" Pete calls to the twink sitting up at the bar, "You wanna go for a smoke? We haven't talked in a while."

Will looks back and after quickly downing the rest of his shotglass, he nods, standing and following Pete out to the back room with a neutral, almost bored look across his slim but wide face. Pete's never really gotten a chance to take in Will. Sure, they've talked a few times but only in quick conversation and when it's absolutely necessary. The talk with him and Ryan only happened once but Pete still thinks of Will as a good friend, someone he can trust despite his sly looks. As Pete's russet eyes take in Will, he realizes just how wide his jaw is. He's always thought of the kid as some twink but his jaw is that of a bear's. He has a prominent, clefted chin and somewhat well defined cheekbones. His eyebrows are low above his eyes, meeting a shallow, straight bone but... out of it all what really stands out are those eyes. They're large and long-lashed but still tired and they've seen the wears of the world. It's depressing. 

"What's up?"

Pete's snapped out of his thoughts and after a moment he replies, gathering his thoughts, "Nothing much." He grabs a pack of cigarettes and looks back at the brunette, "I'm just feeling good. Really good."

"Yeah?" Will smiles, humored by the way Pete's bouncing around as he lights their cigarettes, "Why's that?"

"I think I wanna get laid tonight," Pete says casually, "Not by you, but someone. I'm feeling good."

"By Gabe?"

"God, no," Pete mumbles.

"Patrick?"

Pete cocks an eyebrow, "Why would you suggest him?"

"Pete, everyone knows you're into him. It's no secret. You stare at him all the time, dude. And you always get like this after he talks to you. Just ask him out on a date or something. Nothing too fancy but... y'know, fancy enough," Will chuckles. Pete looks unamused. It's been two months since he slept with Gabe, two months since those words were put into his head, and while they've faded, they're still not completely gone. He knows that he likes Patrick as more than a friend but damn, he's been too anxious to do anything about it. He's terrified that maybe Patrick will judge him or he doesn't feel the same way.

"Just ask him," Will smiles, "I promise, it'll be okay. Maybe you could sleep with him tonight."

Pete can't help but sigh, then smile slightly as those words sink in and Ryan comes into sight from the lounge, a drink in hand.

"What are you two up to?" Ryan grins, hugging Will from behind and allowing Will a sip of whatever liquid is in the bottle, "I heard Brenda's gonna be on in five if you two wanna come."

"I think I'm good," Patrick says, pressing his cigarette into the ashtray on the table beside them, "I'm gonna go find Patrick."

Will smiles, "Go get 'em, man."

"Thank you."

Ryan and Will head on out, Ryan asking Will in a confused tone about what that was about but Will doesn't explain. Pete thanks him internally. After they've disappeared, Pete pulls into one of the backrooms, falling back on the bed and taking a deep breath as he shuts his eyes and tries to summon up his courage. He knows all he has to do is talk to him, start a conversation... ask him to go on a date... maybe as friends to that cafe downtown or just to hang out at home... Maybe...

That's when he hears a shrill scream and his eyes open faster than the sudden racing of his heart.

"Please don't hurt me, please!" That's Bren. Pete rises to his feet and sprints out the door, looking down the hall. He can't see much through the bright lights but when they die down, his eyes adjust to see blue and black. Men with guns and bats and he chokes on his own spit when he realizes that isn't a murderer. It isn't a shoot up.

This is a raid. And those are the cops.

"Pete!"

His head whips back to see Patrick there at the end of the hall with Lindsey and Hayley by his side, "Pete, follow me!"

Guns fire, and he hears nothing but the ringing in his ears and screams as he follows the three of them to the end of the hall and to the right into the last bedroom. Pete shuts the door as soon as they're in, eyes wide and heart pounding in his chest and he sees Hayley with tears in her eyes, clinging to Lindsey like her life depends on it.

"There's a trapdoor under this bed that leads to their wine cellar, we can hide down there until they leave," Patrick says, then turns to Hayley and Lindsey, "You have to get in there."

Hayley nods, wiping her tears as she shakily falls to her hands and knees and crawls under the bed, disappearing from Pete's sight. Lindsey follows right behind her, going much braver and when she, too, has disappeared, Pete looks to Patrick with wide eyes, waiting for the blond to go but instead, Patrick only motions him on. Pete is hesitant but when he hears boots coming down the hall behind him, he immediately heads in, squeezing under the bed and tumbling headfirst into the opening. Lindsey and Hayley just barely catching him in time. Patrick follows not long after, shutting the trapdoor behind him while boots shake the floor above them. There is no sound above the trapdoor. They are safe. 

Pete's heart is racing and he can feel every muscle in his body telling him to scream for help or panic but all he does is cling onto Patrick and cry in sheer fear. Patrick hushes him. Holds him. Whispers to him that it'll be okay. They're okay.

It's all he can do, because he's just as afraid. 

***

Knock, knock, knock

...

Knock, knock, knock

Lindsey looks to Patrick and Pete with pure terror in her eyes. Have they been found? Are they gonna die? Be sent to jail? She clings onto Hayley who's shaking harder than Pete's ever seen anyone before. They all wait in silence. They listen, cock their ears, wait for some sort of sign that the intruder has given up. That they're okay. That the cops haven't found them.

That's when a voice rings out.

"Hello? Is anyone down there? I-It's Dallon. The cops are gone. It's safe to come out. They're gone."

They look around at each other and soon enough, Patrick leans up and presses open the trapdoor just the slightest. Sure enough, those brunette locks and that sunken face come into sight and Dallon is right there, leaning over the trapdoor, "It's okay. It's over now."

As soon as they're out of the wine cellar, Pete knows something is wrong. He knows it's much more than just the cops being gone and the club being safe again. He gets this sinking feeling in his chest and he looks right at Dallon as if he would know what Pete's asking. Dallon looks back, but he doesn't look him in the eyes, he lowers them. Something is wrong. Everything is not right.

"What happened?" Pete asks, holding Lindsey's hand gently. They all feel it.

Dallon clears his throat, looking around, then over at the wall, trying desperately to avoid their glances, "I... I'm afraid one of us didn't make it out alive."

"Who?" Patrick demands, immediately stepping forward with wide eyes.

"It..." Dallon rests his head in his hands then, after a long moment and a breath that shakes his entire body, he continues, "You should see it yourself..."

Patrick glances at Pete, then back at Dallon who's begun walking out of the room. Patrick goes sprinting ahead, and Pete follows not far behind, his mind racing and his heart pounding and his hands shaking. Everything is falling apart, everything has fallen apart. This is the aftermath. This is... this is all they have left. It's all over now. Who was it? Who killed them? Was it Frank? Brendon? Will? Pete remembers Will telling him that Bren would be onstage.

"Oh my god," Patrick gasps. Pete walks up beside him and everything stops. His breathing catches, his eyes widen. Everything goes silent and he feels absolutely nothing but a numb, coldness spreading through his very bones.

There he is. Black liquid leaking from his chest, where a bullet hole resides. Dark red stains ruining his shirt and Pete goes weak at the knees when he sees everything else. rounded cheekbones. That black sporting jacket. Those empty, dark chocolate eyes. 

Gabe's empty eyes.

"Gabe," Patrick whispers, falling to his knees, "Gabe, no. No, no, no. Gabe. Gabe!"

Hayley gasps covering her lips and burying herself deep into Lindsey's chest as full body sobs rack her body. Dallon grips his fists hard and looks away not long after, unable to gaze upon that limp body any longer.

"They just left him. They just fucking left him like he didn't even matter," Dallon whispers, "Almost everyone got away as fast as they could. Travie didn't see it. I can't tell him... I... They arrested Will, Brendon, Andy, and Josh. They just... they..."

Pete shuts his eyes and looks away, gripping his hands into fists as tears rise to his eyes. Gabe never deserved this. None of them did. 

"We need to go home," Pete whispers, rubbing Patrick's back but Patrick only screams, gripping Gabe's body in his arms while he weeps harder than he ever has before.

Pete swears he can feel God's tears falling on all of them.


	8. Chapter 8

June 16th, 1960

Pete and Patrick get home early the next morning at one. Patrick's eyes were wide and his lips shut, unable to get a single word past them on the way home. Pete had only kept his head down and tried to forget everything he'd seen. Tried to forget those empty eyes that stared right through his soul. Tried to forget the bullet wound and tried to forget how fucking loud Patrick had scream, how afraid he was, how much he hurt from just one single loss. Now, as they enter the darkened house, Pete can still see how shaky Patrick is, how dead he seems. He looks like a zombie walking around and it breaks Pete's heart.

"I..." Patrick starts but he immediately trails off, unsure of what to say.

Pete swallows as he shuts the door behind himself and when the house remains in silence, he opens his arms for Patrick. The blond wastes no time in walking forward on weak knees. He isn't crying, not a single tear drops from those red eyes, he only squeezes Pete closer and takes deep breaths, focusing on the beat of the boy's heart, "Why did he have to die? Why couldn't he have... he didn't... he didn't fucking deserve it. He should have just... he..."

"Shh," Pete leans back against the door, cradling Patrick in his arms as the poor, broken man just shakes.

"Life is so fucking unfair. We're no different from them, we're no fucking different. I hope they die, Pete. I hope they drop dead and just fucking die. I hope their wives divorce them and I hope they watch their kids be taken away and I hope they just... I..."

He's crying now, his throat clogged up and his knees just going completely limp as he falls and grips his hair. Pete isn't sure what to say, isn't sure what to do so he just takes a deep breath, gathers all his strength and brings himself down as well, letting Patrick cry. Pete can't help but do the same not long after, beginning to shake, and bite his lip as tears stream down his cheeks. They stay like for a good ten minutes but eventually, Patrick stops crying, Pete already taking deep breaths to calm himself and the blond pulls away, wiping away his tears.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Pete says, "It wasn't... It's understandable, okay?"

Patrick nods, sniffling slightly, "I want him back."

"Me, too."

***

Pete and Patrick head to bed not long after, Pete sitting there in the dark listening to the silence and focusing hard on the ringing in his ears. He can hear the echoes of teens chuckling to one another outside his wide open window and he can see the moon high in the sky. His thoughts are violently fast. Too fast but at the same they're in slow motion. He can't feel anything, he's become numb. He can't tell if he's gripping the sheets or if his hands are just clenching to themselves. His heart is pouring through his eyes and he can see those bloodstains all over again.

He will admit, he never became too close to Gabe, but he can't help but bring in Patrick's sadness as well. After all, he did lose his virginity to the boy and he can't help but feel a deep aching loss in his heart. Because he will never see those eyes light up again. And Travie... how will Travie react? Pete knows they were nothing more than fuckbuddies but that still has to hurt deep. They were bonded, not in love, but they had laid together many times. They probably knew each other deeper than anyone else and Pete knows that had to hurt. He knows...

What more weighs on his mind is that Brendon, WIll, Andy, and Josh. He remembers what Ryan and Will had said the first night he had met them. And the three of them have come closer since that night but he knows about Will's parents. Homophobic. If they found out, they would send WIll away. Will they find out? Will the police tell them? Will he be sent off? Pete feels himself falling deeper and after a long moment where his tears drip down his nose, he forces himself up and pulls his guitar from the wall with shaky hands. He tunes it, gentle, careful not to snap a string, and when he's sure that it's tuned enough, he sets the tunerC. aside and strums a gentle E minor. Then to a D, and a C, and back to E, unsure of what he's doing. 

When he finally feels himself shutting his eyes and when his fingers come to each individual string, he turns to a C. Plays it with a gentle, slow strum. Then onto a G. A minor. C. G.

The door opens, then shuts. And he feels a warm presence against his side in nothing but a pair of jeans. His blond hair lays matted and tangled and his eyes are red and sore. Pete takes a long breath in, and then with a sniffle, he sings. His voice is groggy and raw and off-pitch but it makes the moon seem just a little more sympathetic and the kids outside just a little more quiet.

C. E minor. A.

"Wise men say, only feels rush in  
But I can't help falling in love with you."

He strums a little while longer, lowering his eyes as his tears drip onto the fretboard and wet his calloused fingers. Patrick's lips part and his fingers grip the sheets as he feels everything pour out. Pete continues back to the C, E minor, A and continues on with the pitch of the boy's voice.

"Shall I stay, would it be a sin?  
If I can't help falling in love with you."

Pete strums on, playing his C and his G and A minor. Then repeats the first two and onto the beginning of the chorus beginning with a gentle E minor, his favorite chord. Pete sings these lines, Patrick unable to make his broken, shattered voice work.

"Like a river flows, surely to the sea,  
Darling, so it goes  
Some things are meant to be."

Patrick dives in, headfirst into the cold waters of denial and anger.

"Take my hand, take my whole life, too  
Cause I can't help falling in love with you."

Pete begins strumming a little more powerful now, unable to hold in the growing emotions that vibrate through his very bones. Pete sings it, tears pouring out his eyes this time and his fingers shaky.

"Like a river flows, surely to the sea  
Darling, so it goes  
Some things are meant to be."

Patrick swallows, taking his turn.

"Take my hand, take my whole life, too,  
Cause I can't help falling in love with you."

Pete looks to Patrick strumming out a strong F and then a G. Tears are streaked down his cheeks and he feels a little silly for crying so much in front of a kid who intimidates him. But in return, Patrick always seemed so strong to Pete. Pete didn't imagine that he'd ever be able to cry so hard, not even if he felt all the pain in the world. But Pete knows there's something deeper to Patrick's sadness. Gabe meant something to him. Maybe it was that Gabe kept him going or maybe it was because there was something more than sex with them. But Patrick reveals none of it. Only his sadness. Only the agony that burns through his soul and his lips part, baby blue eyes gazing right back at Pete.

They sing the last line together in a deep harmony that Pete has never felt with anyone else before. Something deep within him. Within each other.

"For I can't help..." Pete moves in closer, a risk he can't bring himself to let go of.

"Falling in love," Patrick holds Pete's jaw, pulling the raven boy in closer.

"With... you."

Pete feels a thousand spark vibrating in him as they gaze into each other's souls and his tears slowly begin to lessen. Patrick smiles weak and sad and terrified. Pete feels his heart pounding as that last chord rings through the room.

"I think I love you, Pete."

Pete grips the back of Patrick's head and before he can move in any further, he whispers right back.

"I think I love you, too."

Their lips crash and Pete can't feel anything but the warmth of Patrick's fingers on his chest and their tears mixing together.

It's raw. It's sad. It's angry.

But most of all,

It's Patrick.

***

Pete wakes up the next morning, groggy and feeling kind of gross. his fingers are weaved in the bedsheets and his guitar lays propped up in its case by the wall. Last night comes through his mind almost like a solid slap and he inhales deep, his lungs inflating his chest to such an extent he's afraid his ribs will pop through his skin but he finds his focus coming away from that and instead pulling toward Patrick's lips. Soft to the touch and a dark pink. How they had moved against his and how his tears had wet Pete's cheeks. 

Pete blinks away sitting up in bed and finally exhaling that breath. They kissed. And Patrick said he loved him. What does this mean? Did he really mean it? Or was he just overwhelmed with grief? Would he do it again? Does he really love Pete? Or was he just confused?

He sits there for a while, processing and running over everything over and over again. How they had kissed for so long and then fallen asleep together. Patrick is gone now though and Pete guesses Patrick's probably either awake or went back to his own bed. Pete watches the wall for a moment longer, and then he finds himself standing and heading out of his bedroom and to the bathroom. He takes a quick shower, honestly a little conscious to get himself cleaner than usual. He isn't sure why, maybe because he's afraid Patrick will judge him or maybe because he felt a little dirty from the sight of Gabe last night and how he had been so devastated from one lost life. He remembers how hard Patrick had cried and how he had laid there in Pete's arms.

Pete stares at his reflection for the longest time. His hair has grown out over the years, resting in a slant to his eyebrow. It's not what's in style, he knows, but at this point he doesn't know if he cares anymore. He's used to it and nobody really seems to care about what he looks like. He doesn't look outright gay, though. And that's bound to save his ass. He knows people could kill him for that. Just like... Just like Gabe. He takes a breath to turn his thoughts away, back to the mirror where he stands shirtless. He hasn't worked out in a while, his toned stomach is starting to disappear. He makes a mental note to start working out again.

Pete turns away, grabbing a shirt and tugging it on before rubbing his eyes and swallowing down his depression. He hears the creaking of steps outside the bathroom, Patrick making his way downstairs and Pete knows he has to get out there. He knows he has to talk to him. About Gabe, about last night, about what they'll do now that there's no club. He doesn't know if he'll ever see Lindsey or Ryan or Brendon again but internally, he hopes to God he does. They're his friends, they've accepted him in as who he is and one of them fucking died. He doesn't know how many more there will be. How many more innocent lives have to be lost just because of who they love...

He finishes off his routine, brushing his teeth and using deodorant and combing his hair and by the time he's done, he feels cleaner than he has in a while. He uses the last bit of motivation he has to leave the bathroom, turning off the light and fan.

Patrick is at the kitchen table when Pete comes down, reading the news paper. The headliner reads in big letters: The Ninth Circle Steakhouse and Gay Bar Raided, Two Police with Severe Injuries. Pete feels sick to his stomach at the words. All that matters is how many police were hurt, not the people who actually attended the club. 

"Last night at precisely 9 PM, police raided a gay bar in lower Manhattan. Four queers were taken into custody and one was shot after several attempts to fight off police. In the process, two police were severely injured and are in the hospital being treated for their injuries. This morning, two of the queers by the names of Josh Dun and William Beckett were taken out of custody, reportedly "harmless to the investigation." However, the three others are being charged. Brendon Urie, a drag queen faggot, for assaulting a police officer. Andy Hurley, the owner of the gay bar, for conducting illegal actions. Their trails will begin separately later today."

Pete grips his hands into fists, as Patrick finishes talking and looks back at him.

"What's gonna happen to them?" Pete asks, taking a seat at the table. 

"I don't know..." Patrick whispers, "Brendon and Andy... they could be in serious trouble for it all."

Pete swallows and nods, looking away for a moment before heading over to the coffee machine. He doesn't want to deal will all this stuff before coffee, he needs at least a little bit of a caffeine boost.

As he's grabbing his coffee and pulling an apple from the fridge, he hears the phone go off from the wall beside the door to the garage. Pete looks to Patrick but he's already picked it up. His heart drops with the words that follow.

"Joe...? Yeah, hi." Pete can hear the soft mumble of Joe's voice through the phone and makes out a few words here and there.

"Did you... newspaper?"

"Yeah, I heard they let Josh and Will go. Any news on what's happening to Andy and Brendon? Or Will? Did his parents find out?"

"I... Gabe... memorial service... two weeks... Ryan said... Parents... Creedmoor."

"Oh my god," Patrick covers his mouth as his eyes widen and a look of pure hate and fear and sadness.

"I... Brendon's sentence... Meet up... your house... need to tell you... in person... Andy... enough evidence... sentenced..."

Patrick drops the phone, staring at the wall. Pete turns from the coffee machine to look at him and when their eyes meet, Pete knows something is wrong.

"P-Patrick?"

His lips quiver as if he's about to cry all over again, but this time, only a soft whisper escapes them.

"Andy's been sentenced to death."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for all the sad chapters, I promise it'll get better eventually haha


	9. Chapter 9

**_June 20th, 1969_ **

"We gather here today to remember the loss of someone very close to all of us," Tyler says, Josh right by his side with their hands interwoven, "Gabriel Eduardo Saporta passed at the hands of a police officer at precisely 11 o'clock PM on June 17th. It was a horrible tragedy that yet another queer youth had to die at the hands of a police officer. Some of you may be angry. Some of you may be grieving, but as one, we are all in pain. We should not remember Gabe as nothing but a toy, a whore, a slut. But as a man of no fear. Because he fought back against those police. He fought when when we ran.

"Gabriel is a symbol that all love is valid. That men can love men and women can love women. That a man or woman can be neither or both. That men can really be women and women can really be men. He is a symbol that we will not turn back," Tyler looks to Josh, his voice pitched high and cracking, "We must fight back. Even when all hope seems lost. Thank you."

Tyler steps back and Josh comes ahead, a small bruise fading from his cheek.

"We will now take volunteers if you'd like to share a story or speak more on this matter."

Patrick is the first to stand beside Pete, his fingers untangling from the raven-haired boy's and his legs guiding him up to the altar. Gabe's body rests peacefully in the coffin, a dark suit over his body and all the color gone from his face. He's beautiful. And Pete can't help but feel the deepest ache within himself for the Latino boy. His first time. The kid who made him laugh at least a thousand times. He only knew him for three months but... a lot happens in three months. 

Pete can hear the sound of rain beginning to fall from the cloudy, New York sky. Rustling to bright green pines and onto the roof of the church, God is crying and Pete doesn't even believe in one. He never saw it, but he knows Gabe fought. He knows he must have screamed at those cops. And it was passed off as nothing but an overreacting faggot. Like he didn't even fucking matter. That pisses him off the most. That they didn't even pay him respect. They just spat on his dead body and joked about how they probably took him out of the pain his ass must have been in.

He feels tears rising to his eyes at that thought.

"I'm Patrick. And I know only a few of you know me, but that's okay. I knew him. I knew him as a friend, a close friend. He told me everything that has been on his mind for so long, every little problem and every little issue. And I know, it was a horrible tragedy what happened. I know that what those cops did was inhumane. And more to that, how Andy, a good friend of ours, has been sentenced to death. Gabe didn't deserve death. He didn't deserve to die for nothing more than being attracted to men. He poses no threat to society. He is not disgusting. If you're here today and you're queer. Believe me, you are not a burden. Nobody deserves to end up like Gabe did except for the policeman that shot and killed him."

Patrick takes a deep breath and after some thought and a glance to Josh, he parts his lips and onto the audience, he looks. Across Gabe's mother and sister. His father didn't come. He said he'd rather die than come to his son's funeral. After all, he was nothing more than a faggot. Than a whore for men who want a quick jerk and go. His gaze continues to Travis, and Joe and Hayley. To his aunts and uncles and cousins. There aren't many, but there are enough to outnumber those from The Ninth Circle.

"It's unjust. It's absolutely disgusting that homosexuality is illegal. That people get to decide who people are allowed to love. Gabe was close to several people. To me, to Travis. It's utter bullshit that he can be killed just like that. Without hesitation. Several witnesses saw. How that police officer just shot him because he was defending those close to him. And I'm tired of people acting like it's okay. It's just how things are. It's bullshit. It's... it... it needs to stop. We need to make it stop."

Patrick wipes a tear from his cheek and after a long, calculating breath, he looks to Tyler and says.

"Thank you."

He leaves the altar and not long after, Travie takes his place, eyes low and hands folded. His normal afro is braided back into dreads, a rose in his pocket, bright red.

"When..." Travie takes a breath, not bringing his eyes from the floor. Pete knows they dated, not entirely in love, but not entirely out of it. Gabe was extremely polyamorous, Travie was okay with him fucking whoever he wanted. Sometimes together, sometimes not. But what matters is that this hit Travis hard. Harder than anyone else here. Pete just wishes everything were back to normal. That Gabe had never died. It pulls him down. He doesn't know if it's something he can take well.

"When Gabe and I first met, it was at The Ninth Circle," He licks his lips, "He was the sweetest man I'd ever met. I'd never had sex before. I'd never kissed a man before. I'd never been in love before. Not truly. My parents had always pushed me to find a girl because they were afraid. There were so many rumors of the queer population growing. They were afraid that I'd be sent to hell. Or that... that I would be stuck in purgatory forever. They forced me, girl after girl. But I knew I was gay by the time I was ten. I was just too afraid to admit it.

"I went to The Ninth Circle after a friend of mine, Will, told me about it. And like I said, that's where I met Will. He was my first for everything. We were in love, and we weren't. He was there when I needed help, and I was there when he did, too. We had sex, and it was nothing like I'd ever experienced before. We kissed, and it sent a spark through me that I'd never felt with any girl. We were not exclusive, but we still stayed together. After rough days, he would tell me it would be okay. After his father disowned him, I was right there for him. And it was all we needed. We fell in and out of love with other people, but we stayed together.

"It was odd, but we didn't care. Because it worked for us. Gabe didn't deserve to die how he did. He was young. Only 27. It's not old enough. It wasn't just."

Travie's dark eyes rise, meeting Pete's and Patrick's and Joe's and Gabe's mother's. 

"We've all lost something today. A lover, a friend, a son, a sibling. And we are all hurt. He meant something to me that I didn't have with anyone else, and I will never really recover. None of us will. But we will heal over time. We will have scars, but they will no longer be open wounds.

"Because we have something they cannot take from us.

"And that is resistance."

***

_Knock, knock, knock_

"That should be Frank," G says, their eyes attached to the door while Ryan rises to his feet and grabs it. Pete is leaning back against the couch, hand in Patrick's while Lindsey's head sits comfortably in his lap and Hayley holds her torso. Dallon, unfortunately, gets her feet.

They're all here from The Ninth Circle because Frank's brought them here with news of a protest. All they said is that they're meeting up at Lindsey's to talk over everything that's happened and figure out what they're doing next. They can't just find another gay bar and pretend it never happened, but at the same time they can't just head up to the police station and demand Gabe and Andy's life back. So, they handle this like anyone else would.

Frank doesn't sit, Ryan only returns to his own seat and Frank stands in front of all of them, their hands in the pockets of their jacket and their eyes cast up to the crowd, "Do we all know what happened to Brendon and Will? I know the word hasn't really gotten around yet, we need to clear up some things before we begin."

"We haven't heard," Patrick says from beside Pete, "I know they haven't decided on Brendon's sentence but what happened to Will?"

Ryan flinches out of the corner of their eye, his fingers visibly beginning to shake. Tyler immediately hugs him close and lets him know he's okay. It's okay. Will's okay. Pete's curiosity spikes.

Frank swallows, "Will... his parents sent him off to Creedmoor. To treat his, quote and quote, 'queerness.' I don't know what they're doing to him but, we know for sure conversion therapy. Possibly lobotomies. I don't know. As for Brendon, he's been sentenced three months in prison for assaulting a police officer. It's not bad, but at the same time it's not good. We need him for the protest. Which, by chance, I've come to organize today."

"What's this about?" G asks, their arms splayed back across the couch.

"Well," Frank says, "There have been more and more raids on gay bars lately. People who are just being arrested for how they dress or who they love. And I've been talking to a few friends I know of. They want to protest. We're not sure when, or where, but we're hoping the next raid that happens, we'll be there. We need signs, spraypaint, anything you've got. It'll be peaceful, but if they start to get violent, we're violent right back at them.

"This isn't a happy little, 'someday we'll have the right we need.' This is a, 'we need our rights now.' We are people, too, we love differently, and it's bullshit, absolute bullshit that they can arrest us for something like that. We deserve normal human rights," Frank looks across the room, Lindsey has sat up from Pete's lap and she's got a spark of determination in her eye. It's obvious everyone kind of does. Ryan doesn't look as defeated, his chin is high. G is smirking to Pete and Patrick's left and Patrick is on the edge of his seat. He's ready. They're all ready for this.

"The next raid they have on a gay bar, we'll be there. I'll call you, and you guys call who you can. Everyone needs to know. No more oppression, we're going to fucking fight."

"Do we have any tips?" Hayley asks.

"Not yet, there have been rumors of Stonewall but nothing's been confirmed," Frank replies, "Like I said, it's going to be the next raid."

"What if we die?" Travis says out of nowhere. Everyone's eyes turn to him, "Are you sure we'd be able to have another death on our hands after Gabe and Andy. I mean, how many more funerals have to happen? This isn't going to fix anything, the government is going to just shut us down again. Then what? Say Lindsey dies next, or G. We'll be devastated. We can't do things that risk more than we can lose."

"It's a risk we have to take, Travis, if we want equality, then we have to risk it," Frank replies.

"Bullshit," Travie growls, rising to his feet and shoving past Frank, "This is all bullshit and you know it."

He slams the door shut, and just like that, he's gone.

Silence fills the room, awkward and thick. It takes a good minute before Frank can finally part his lips and he says in a whisper, "I'm gonna go check on him."

He leaves, and after a few minutes, conversation floods the room, Lindsey and Hayley talk about how hurt Travie must be, how sad they feel for him. Tyler and Josh and Patrick and G launch into a conversation about the protests, will it be at Stonewall? Will it be peaceful? And to his right, Dallon is there, staring at his hands, his dark hair covering his face. Hayley quickly pulls him into their conversation though. Pete is left there without a conversation and... he feels okay with that. While everyone else is distracted, he heads up from the couch and goes upstairs, shutting his door and falling back into his bed. He feels like a teenager without a care but he just... he feels empty.

William is at Creedmoor. Ryan is hurt. Brendon is in jail. Andy is bring sentenced to death. Gabe is already dead. He can't help but feel a sense of dread. What's gonna happen to him? What's gonna happen to Pete? Will he die, too? Will he be hurt just as bad? Or will he survive?

He's in so deep in his thoughts, he doesn't even hear Ryan come in. But he's immediately alert when the brunette sits at his bed and clears his throat.

"Hey um..." He licks his lips, "I trust you a lot. And... you've been a good friend to me. And I feel like I shouldn't go alone, I don't know if I can go alone." Ryan takes a deep breath, gathering their thoughts, "I... I'm just afraid for Will. I want to visit him. and I know they won't let him see me but... if you're there I feel like they might let me at least see how he's doing. Or maybe you can talk to him... I'm just..." Ryan purses his lips, his throat swelling.

"I... I miss him so damn much," They whisper, "I want him back."

Pete licks his lips, feeling tears rise to his own eyes as he listens to Ryan break and fall and shatter in front of him.

"I messed up, you know. I should have... I should have helped him get away..."

"I'll come," Pete replies, pulling up and looking Ryan in the eye. Their fingers are shaking and they look completely and utterly broken.

"Really?"

"Of course."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some smut for you guys, as always, comments and kudos are appreciated. Enjoy!

April 18, 1969

"A-are you sure about this?" Pete asks, eyes wide as Patrick stands behind him and pats his back.

"Yeah, he'll say yes, I'm sure of it," Patrick replies, "Just go up to him and ask him."

Pete swallows, eying Gabe with wide, frightened eyes, "O-Okay..." He heads on hands tight in his pockets like they always are when he's nervous. His legs are shaky as he confronts the boy with wide eyes and a shaky tone, "H-hey..."

Gabe looks up, pulling the cigarette from his lips and blowing the smoke up into the air, "Hey, Pete. What's up?"

"I-I... uh..." Pete swallows hard, looking back at Patrick for a little more support. The blond only gives him a thumb's up and a large grin, "I just... I heard from Patrick that you could... uh... you could maybe bring me into one of the back rooms for a little bit? I-I have a couple dollars..."

Gabe takes another long, lazy drag and releases the breath just moments later, "Alright, I can show you a good time, sit down for a moment. Do you have any condoms on you? Lube?"

"N-No, not right now, I can buy some, though," Pete replies. Gabe nods, pressing the cigarette into the ashtray beside him.

"No need, follow me." Gabe sits up and moves past Patrick to the end of the bar. They continue down a hallway and onto the end where Gabe opens the last door to the right. Pete heads in, looking across a cushioned king bed with a bedside table and a box underneath, "Go ahead, get yourself comfortable. Are you a top or a bottom?"

Pete takes a seat on the bed, peeling off his shoes and socks as Gabe grabs a condom and a bottle of lube from the drawer, "I-I can go either way, but I prefer being a bottom. Why did you need to ask me for prep stuff?"

"I just generally don't like using their stuff," Gabe replies, taking off his own shoes and socks and locking the door, "Too easy to tear."

Pete nods but before he can pull off anything else, Gabe is unbuttoning his overcoat, setting it on his shoes as their lips connect, slow and steady, much slower than the pounding of Pete's heart, "Relax, you're okay. Take a breath."

Their lips attach and Pete finds himself slowly calming down as Gabe presses him back into the bed, slowly grinding their hips together and making Pete whimper slightly at the feeling, "G-Gabe, _oh_."

Gabe bites hard on his lip, drawing blood and pulling off Pete's shirt to reveal a toned chest and a lanky, slightly muscled frame. Pete is panting, his tongue passing through Gabe's lips and sending a tsunami of Gabe onto him. Pete groans when Gabe pins his wrists down and sweat begins to accumulate. 

"Have you ever done this before?" The jewish boy asks.

"No," Pete admits, swallowing and watching Gabe peel off his shirt, "B-But I've done a few things that aren't has... y'know... Drastic."

Gabe dives back onto Pete's lips, rubbing against where a growing bulge is rising in his jeans and sending the shorter boy bucking up slightly. They moan together, and that's when Gabe finally peels off the jeans holding Pete's cock tight against his crotch. Pete exhales like it burns, it does, and then Gabe pulls down and all thoughts of pain absolutely leave his mind as Gabe presses his tongue in one long stroke from the base of Pete's shaft to the very tip, collecting the salty, clear droplets of precum along the way.

"Jesus, fuck shit," Pete just barely manages to grunt.

"A lot of bad words coming from that mouth you have there," Gabe teases, pulling back and slipping Pete's clothing off the rest of the way onto the cool floor, "Naughty boy."

"I'm not kinky," Pete mumbles, looking away as Gabe undoes his belt.

"Neither am I," Gabe grins, "I'm just telling the truth."

The darker rolls his eyes and looks back down to see Gabe shoving his jeans down his legs and soon after jerking his cock in long, smooth strokes. Pete's mouth begins to water, his eyes widening at the sight. He's never sucked cock before. And he certainly doesn't want it to end like that now, but _damn_ does he want to suck Gabe's. It's long and thick, maybe not as large as Travie might be but still fairly big. His tip is small, almost comical against the thickness of his cock. Pete bites his lip, looking up at Gabe who only looks right back at him, hand still working smooth.

"How do you want to do this? Riding? Hands and knees...? Uh... Missionary?"

"I..." Pete takes a breath, looking back at the bed for a moment before his eyes meet Gabe's once again, "I think... maybe hands and knees? Would that be easiest to start off?"

"Sure," Gabe says, grabbing lube while Pete gets into position, "I gotta prep you first. It'll feel weird and might hurt a little but it'll make everything else much less painful."

Pete nods, arching his back and pressing his face into the bed, focusing on his breathing and shutting his eyes as Gabe comes up behind him, pressing a gentle hand to his hip, "Easy now, don't clench."

"What do you mean?" Pete asks.

"Don't... I mean don't hold it in if you know what I mean..." Gabe replies with a bit of an awkward tone to his voice. When Pete still doesn't quite understand, he bites his lip and says, "Push."

Pete gets it then, blushing slightly as he does as asked and soon enough, he feels a finger circling his rim and eventually pressing in. Pete feels himself beginning to clench but when Gabe squeezes his hip, he immediately relaxes slightly, feeling Gabe continue down to the second, then the third knuckle. Pete exhales, long and deep, feeling Gabe kiss around his ass, pulling his finger out before pressing it back in. It feels weird, not good. It's sort of unpleasant just with the general thought that Gabe has his finger up _that_  place. Sure, he's gotten physicals before but, Jesus, this just seems like too much.

"Fuck," Gabe grunts behind him, pulling out and adding in a second finger, slicked in the sticky, water-based substance, "You're pretty."

Pete doesn't reply, only whines against the sheets as Gabe slowly eases a second finger in. The stretch burns a little but not too bad and Pete just shuts his eyes and bites into the covers, groaning at the feeling. Gabe's fingers only scissor and spread him open, eventually raking up and down his walls. Before Pete knows it, he's crying out, slamming back in surprise, "G-Gabe!"

"That feels good, huh?" Gabe asks with a grin as he continues to rake against Pete's prostate and send him squirming against the bed.

"Fuck, yes, shit, fuck me," Pete pants, "Fuck me please."

Gabe pulls his fingers out, but before he does anything else, he adds a third, "I gotta finish."

"Fuck the prep," Pete grunts, "Just get your cock up my ass."

"Impatient slut," Gabe chuckles, wasting no time in flipping Pete over on his back and preparing his cock, risen hard and leaking against his lower stomach. Pete watches as he tears open the condom with his teeth and presses it down over his cock in quick, jerked fashions. The taller pulls one of Pete's legs to rest on his shoulder and the other around his waist, then sets the tip of his cock against Pete's opening, 

"Are you sure about this?" Gabe asks one last time, fingers gentle around his cock.

"Yes," Pete replies without hesitation, "Please."

Gabe begins pressing in, slow and gentle despite every other part of his body telling himself to slam in. Pete whines, forcing himself not to clench and just relax taking Gabe in. Gabe bites down on Pete's lips, kissing him again and waving his fingers around Pete's wrists, pressing them down into the soft sheets of the bed.

"You're much quieter than Patrick," Gabe says out of nowhere which, honestly, isn't the hottest thing Pete's heard this evening. Although, the more he thinks about it, the more appealing that sounds. Despite his reluctance, he finds himself opening up to that idea. Of Patrick.

"Yeah?"

"Mhmm," Gabe whispers, "He's not a bottom but damn can he moan."

Pete bites his lip, shutting his eyes as Gabe bottoms out and makes sure Pete can feel his hips rolling nice and deep inside him, "He likes to fuck me hard and fast, he likes to make sure I know I'm nothing but a little whore. He fucks me face first into the bed, and he bites down on my shoulder. He likes to growl a lot. Just own me. He loves twinks like you and me. Loves to wreck them, show them their place."

Pete can't help but admit that this is kind of a big turn on. Maybe it's just the growing fondness he's had for Patrick over the last few weeks. Maybe it's just the fact he hasn't gotten off in ages or the way Gabe whispers it in his ear, his breath moist on his skin. Maybe it's just the fact that no matter how hard Pete may try, he can't get the image of Patrick fucking him hard and rough out of his head and it's making his cock ache in a way it never has before. Either way, Pete finds himself fucking back onto Gabe's cock, biting his lip and shutting his eyes.

"And sometimes, when he's feeling especially like an asshole, he'll fuck me until I'm begging and screaming for him. Crying like a little bitch. And he'll just leave me there. Sometimes he'll handcuff me to the bed and tell me to shut the fuck up. Sometimes he'll put a cockring on me like he does all his bitches and he'll tell me to fuck myself on his cock until he's satisfied. Do you think he'd do that to you?"

Gabe's thrusting now, slow but ragged. He jerks as he goes, he isn't smooth in the least. He pulls out nice and slow then slams back into Pete before repeating it all over again, "Huh?"

"Yes," Pete gasps, "Fuck, yes."

"I've been watching you eye him ever since I met you," Gabe whispers, biting on his earlobe before letting go, "You want him. You want his cock in you and you want him to fuck you hard and fast, all night long until you're nothing but a puddle of pleasure. His little toy."

Pete groans, arching his back and feeling Gabe's fingers digging into his wrists. His thrusts get faster, harder, "Tell me how much you want him to fuck you, Pete. Fucking scream for him."

"P-Patrick," Pete gasps, flipping his head back and forth on the bed and gasping, "Patrick, harder, please..."

Patrick-no-Gabe thrusts harder, fingers pulled away from Pete's wrists and instead wrapping around his throat in a tight, restricting grip. Pete's hips jerk, his cock twitching between their stomachs and spready the stick substance of his precum across their sweaty skin. Pete's hands now twist in the sheets and the bed is squeaking under them, the headboard slamming against the wall and possibly causing a dent. Neither of them care because at this point, Pete can't even think anymore. The air has left his lungs and he's floating, his entire body throbbing along with the pulse of his cock, his heart.

Patrick leans down, their hips grinding and slamming and thrusting and dancing and Pete's entire being becomes numb with pleasure and with three last words by that undistinguished voice, he feels his entire being breaking down.

"Come for me."

A tsunami crashes through his body, his back arching and the entire room a pitch black as he screams out that forbidden name. He feels the moon above him, he hears the waves crashing through him and his prick explodes, twitching and spurting out across his and Patrick's stomachs. His fingers grip onto whatever skin they can find, he gasps for a breath he can't quite capture and when his lips finally inhale and his eyes widen to see nothing but white, he knows it's over. Just vaguely. At the back of his mind.

It all goes black.

When Pete stirs a little while later, he's shaking. He can feel his fingers lax and his lungs are finally getting air but he can feel a pain shooting through his lower back as he rises and squints against the bright light above them. Gabe is on the edge of the bed, tying his shoes and adjusting his wrinkled shirt. He doesn't even realize Pete's awake until the shorter says with a soft, groggy whisper, "Wh-what happened?"

He looks back and chuckles softly, "You're finally awake. You blacked out for a good five minutes, I was considering grabbing Patrick. I've never seen anybody come that hard before."

"I... oh..." Pete swallows. He doesn't realize Gabe had cleaned his mess up until he's slipping on his boxers and his stomach is clean, "I... Fuck..."

He rubs his eyes, and says in a dark, unappreciative tone, "Don't ever mentioned what happened today. To me, to Patrick, to _anyone_."

"What's the big deal?" Gabe frowns, standing, "Are you okay?"

"Yes. Fine," Pete grunts, "I just don't need Patrick knowing about what happened here. I'm not talking about the sex. I'm talking about what you said to me."

Gabe sighs, "Pete, listen. First off, I'd never do that to you. I know better than that. Second off, whatever you're feeling about Patrick, it's totally fine, okay? I mean... I know you've never really known a gay guy before in your life and, yeah he's personally not to my taste romantically, but if you're into that then - "

"Just shut up, Gabe," Pete mumbles, tugging up his jeans and buckling his belt, "Never mention this again."

"Whatever you say, boss."

When Pete comes out of the bedroom, all the way dressed and Gabe already gone, he finds himself with a slight limp in his step but he tries not to focus too hard on it. He just forces himself down the hall and back out to the main lounge past the bar and back to the blond who's leather jacket sits tight across his shoulders. When Pete sits with a large gap between them, Patrick parts his lips. And he asks gentle, innocent, stupid, "So... how did it go?"

"Fine."

"Just fine?"

Pete looks away.

"Yeah, sure."

***

"So last week, I was down at Stonewall, you know that little gay bar just down by Greenwich? Well, I was down there with Tyler," Brendon grins, looking across the circle of people, "And there was this other drag queen, can't remember her name, somethin' like... Roxy Darling or something. We were hanging out at the bar, I bought her a scotch, she bought me a beer. And we were getting pretty close, y'know? I was sure I was gonna sleep with this bitch...

Pete tunes out the conversation, looking down at the palms of his hands and trying his best not to look at Patrick. He hasn't been the same over the past few days since Gabe and him slept together. He can't stop thinking about those words that Gabe had growled, how they had affected him so badly. How he had never come so hard in his life... Every time he looks at Patrick, now, he can only think about that. About Gabe, about being spread out, his prick leaking and his cheeks flushed red as he pants and screams for relief.

Every time he shuts his eyes, he hears it. 

_"I've been watching you eye him ever since I met you. You want him. You want his cock in you and you want him to fuck you hard and fast, all night long."_

_"_ _He loves twinks like you and me. Loves to wreck them, show them their place."_

_"Sometimes he'll handcuff me to the bed and tell me to shut the fuck up. Sometimes he'll put a cockring on me like he does all his bitches and he'll tell me to fuck myself on his cock until he's satisfied. Do you think he'd do that to you?"_

"Pete!"

Pete gasps, looking with wide eyes at Patrick who's looking at him, worried and and gentle. Almost too gentle, "What's up?"

"Nothing much," Pete replies casually as if he wasn't just staring off into nothing.

Patrick raises an eyebrow of disbelief, "Yeah. Sure. You wanna go outside? Get a smoke? Go for a drink? I'll pay."

"I'm fine," Pete grunts, looking away and crossing his arms over his chest self-consciously like some rebellious teen who doesn't give two shits about their parent.

"Mhmm..." Patrick rolls his eyes and stands, holding out a hand for Pete, "Come on. We're going. We need to talk."

"I'm fine, Trick, honest," Pete mumbles but when Patrick doesn't show any signs of letting up, he sighs and rises to his feet, pressing his hands into his pockets, "What?"

Patrick leads him away from Lindsey, Hayley, Bren, G, and Dallon and instead up to the bar where only Ryan and Will sit, one on the other's lap. "I'm just worried about you is all. You haven't been the same since you slept with Gabe. Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," Pete laughs emptily, "Honest."

"You haven't talked to me in three days, Pete. And we live together," Patrick mumbles.

Pete looks away but after a moment, he sighs and looks back at Patrick with a dead look, "I'm sorry. I've just been... I've been processing my feelings about some things. But if anything is bothering me that you can help with, I promise I'll talk to you, okay?"

Patrick looks satisfied with that, and nods with a slight smile, "Alright."

He slings an arm around Pete's shoulder and calls to the bartender, Andy. He owns the place and he and Pete have talked once or twice but that's kind of it.

"We'll get a couple scotches here."

"Coming right up!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also feel free to check out my tumblr here: https://iwrtbksnttrgds.tumblr.com/
> 
> My inbox is always open!


	11. Chapter 11

June 29th, 1969

 

Andrew,

 

It's Pete. Things are doing good over here, I haven't gotten a letter back so I hope you're doing okay. I'm sorry if I've sent this at a bad time but a lot is going on and we need to talk. Do you think you could get a hold of a phone of some sort? Or something? I miss you. I heard from Patrick who heard from Mikey that you two are back at boot camp again until you get pulled out to wherever you need. I hope things are going okay. 

 

Patrick and I had sex last night. I'll spare you the details but it was so amazing. It was better than Gabe and... wow. I'm still a little short of breath.

 

Anyways, Frank called last night afterwards. He said that was a raid at stonewall yesterday morning that turned into a riot. I'm not sure how many died but they say it burned. I just hope that more survived than died. I don't want to mourn any more than I have to. 

 

I'm gonna end this here because I have to go. Frank called us out to Stonewall. I have to go. I hope boot camp goes well. Bye, man. Tell Mikey I said hi.

 

-Pete (Sent 6/29/1969)

 

***

 

"Gay rights are human rights"

"Drag power"

"Legalize gay bars"

 

Stonewall has burned. They're all standing there, taking in the wreckage. They don't know how many died, or how many were hospitalized. But, they do know what happened. It was supposed to be another routine police raid. They would arrest all the drag queens and all the butches and all the bears or anyone who looked out of place. But, instead, violence broke out. Everything fell to pieces and eventually the place caught fire. They don't know how, yet, but they'll get there.

 

Graffiti has been left on the walls, rainbows and pink and purple. Blues, reds, greens. You invaded our rights. Love is love. Patrick is holding Pete's hand and just taking in the sight in shock. G is beside them, their eyes angry, no, furious. Them and Frank. They've both been the kind to never back down from a fight, to instead fight for what they love. G parts their lips and whispers out, "The Mafia owned this place. They let everyone in. Homeless, drag queens, butches, lesbians, gays, non-gendered, transgenders... I didn't think I'd ever see the day it fell..."

 

Patrick shakes his head, walking away from Pete and pressing the rose he bought into the flowerbed in front of the bar. He stands there for a moment, and then looks back up at the building. 

 

"I hate them," Pete finds himself whispering, "I hate them so much. How could they just do this to us? Just act like we're... we're animals and act as if we're nothing but... but monsters."

 

"Travie should have come," Dallon says, her hands in the pockets of her dress, "He would have wanted to see this."

 

"We can't change his mind now," G replies, "We can only hope he'll come out of his shell." They look to their right where Hayley and Lindsey stand, embracing and gazing up at it all. There is yelling, shouting in the distance. Everyone who used to come here protesting at what had happened. Pete knows soon enough, he'll be the one yelling for it. He's excited, pissed, and he feels adrenaline pumping through his veins as Patrick grabs his hand, coming back to him.

 

"Everybody, listen up!" Frank calls, grabbing everyone's attention, "We came here to support what we believe in, and we're going to fight for what we want. For what's right."

 

There's a few whoops from people Pete doesn't know, the crowd is rather big and he can already see some cops showing up to control the crowd. An audience. People from Stonewall, The Ninth Circle, Mayfair, Eve Adams, Julius', and other bars from around the area. Whoever felt they needed to come, have joined, and now stand around him, holding signs just like the graffiti. Gays aren't monsters and Drag power and I love who I love and Don't back down. All supporting what they've come for. Frank, obviously, didn't bring it all, but they certainly helped in a good chunk of people. 

 

As Pete looks around, taking in the words of the non-gendered, he soaks in the sights. He sees everyone he's known for three months, everyone he's grown to enjoy and befriend standing around him, looking up at Frank with a look of pride or anger or confidence. But they all look determined. 

 

To his right, beside G, he sees Lindsey and Hayley, Lindsey sporting bright red lipstick and sharp eyeliner, holding her lover close. While she isn't butch, she's definitely much less girly than Hayley. She protects her, and she is the dominant one. She looks out for Hayely most, and she's loyal. She will fight for herself and for Hayley. Pete sees that deep in her, and as Patrick grips his hand, he only squeezes back. Hayley is wearing jeans and a leather vest, her bright hair long and showering her shoulders in a waterfall of sunlight. She looks ready to fight, just as Lindsey is. 

 

G has their bright hair cut shorter than usual and their masculine jawline is the only thing that gives them away. Their hands are in the pockets of their leather jacket but they look ready to punch someone. Behind them stands Ryan, staring up at Frank. He's broken, and everyone knows it. Will has really pushed him down into a state of depression and after yesterday, it seems that it's only getting worse. But they have something today that Pete finds unique. He has someone to fight for.

 

To Pete's right, past Patrick stands Tyler, all by himself. Nobody knows where Josh went, but Pete feels a little bad that he didn't show up. It only makes him wonder where the hell he went. But Tyler obviously looks like it doesn't bother him too much. He's holding a sign: Trans people aren't the monsters here. Nobody else brought a sign, but it's obvious that a lot of the people from the other bars have. Beside him is Dallon, taller than the rest of the group and holding roses for the victims of stonewall. She looks pretty, wearing eyeliner and lipstick and wearing a skirt and a cardigan, both black and white.

 

Finally, next to Pete stands Patrick, eyes wide and dark and fingers sweaty as he grips Pete's hand. He looks ready to fight, ready to defend Pete with everything he's got and to fight until he can't. He's always been like G and Frank, always been the kind to never back down. He loves rebellion, revolution, and fighting for what's right. And it's obvious that's what he feels now. 

 

Frank is standing up on the roof of Stonewall, Pete doesn't know how the hell he got up there, but it's obvious that Frank doesn't care. They've got the crowd's attention and they're ready to use it.

 

"Gays need the same rights as straights! We will not back down until we get what's right and we will not back down until homosexuality is legalized!" They yell, "Earlier this year, a man who went by the name of J. McCann, Howard Efland died due to police brutality for the fact he was gay. Just because he loved men. Just because of who he found himself attracted to."

 

Patrick clenches his fist. He remembers seeing this earlier in the year on the news. They'd beaten him to death for no good reason and got away with it as if it didn't matter. The entire community was pissed. Pete was pissed.

 

"We must step forward and take a stand for our rights. To love, to engage, to marry. Gays, hets, lesbians, bisexuals, pansexuals. Non-genders, transgender, and cisgenders. Monogamous and polyamorous alike. We are all human, we will not stand for abuse and oppression. We will take our rights. This is not a disease. This is not an illness. This is our heart, not a sickness. This is who we are. I know a man who loved his boyfriend with much more than I've ever seen before. He was sweeter and kinder than anyone else. And you know what they did? They threw him in a mental facility where he's being 'treated' for his 'disease.' There is nothing wrong with loving who you love, and there is nothing wrong for being who you are.

 

"These are basic human rights. And we will not sit back and watch as we're murdered and beaten and turned into whatever the homophobes out there want us to be. We are people all the same as you. We love all the same as you, and we are not numbed by who we are,

 

"Only by what we could be."

 

"Yeah!"

 

Pete recognizes that voice and without a thought, he turns, looking up at him. Dark skin, black hair, and a grin brighter than the sun. Travie towers over Pete, holding a sign: Gay rights are human rights, and right beside him stands Brendon, and Josh. Brendon is in full drag, sporting black lipstick and sharp eyeliner, her thick jaw sharp in the sun. Above her is another sign: Drag power! Pete smiles as he lets go of Patrick's hand and runs forward into Brenda's arms, hugging her.

 

"How did you get here? I thought you were in jail!" Patrick grins.

 

"Josh may or may not have bailed me out," Brenda smiles fondly, "And I felt like you boys might need some help here."

 

"Brenda?"

 

Pete lets go of Brenda, but his place is quickly taken by Tyler, tears rising to his eyes, "My god, I never thought you'd come."

 

"Of course I would," Brenda says, "I love you, so much."

 

"I love you, too," Tyler sniffles.

 

Pete can't help but smile slightly at the sight then look to Patrick who's only looking to him. And after a long moment, where they just take each other in, Patrick pulls Pete forward and kisses him, hard, sending chills up Pete's spine and a grin across Pete's lips.

 

"I love you," Patrick gasps.

 

"I love you, too."

 

***

 

About thirty minutes pass, Frank has left the roof and a good crowd of cops are holding up barricades against the crowd as darkness settles over the city. They're yelling a chant but things are still peaceful as they go, "Gay rights are human rights and we won't quit! Gay rights are human rights and we won't quit!" Everyone has joined in on the chant, raising their signs high as they stand, tall and proud. Police have shown up in front of Stonewall, barricading off the perimeter so no violence starts, hopefully. There have been one or two fights but they've been controlled. Now, they're just standing around, chanting, watching, waiting.

 

"Attention, please! Attention here, everyone please!"

 

The chanting continues, though. Pete goes quiet but Patrick doesn't hear, only continues to speak even if it is just a whisper.

 

"Attention! Everyone please! Attention here!"

 

The crowd begins to quiet, Pete can't see who's talking but he's guessing it's a cop or someone who doesn't want this to go on. He can hear the static of the megaphone and when he stands on his very tip toes, he can see the top of the person standing up on a bench.

 

"Attention! Please quiet! We need your attention here, please!"

 

"Piss off!"

 

"This is our rally, fuck off!"

 

"I understand that you're all here about what happened yesterday, but we must ask you to leave. You're interrupting regular business and due to-"

 

"Fuck you! These are human rights!" Someone yells.

 

"Go oppress someone else for once!"

 

"I understand that you're all frustrated, but we really have to ask you to-"

 

The man cuts off and Pete can hear yelling from  in front of him. He stands on the tips of his toes again but can't see anything. When the crowd begins to move, though, he quickly realizes that the rally has quickly turned into a riot. People are punching, yelling, screaming about human rights and how inhumane the police have become. Patrick only narrows his eyes beside Pete and mumbles to the other, "Let's go kick some ass." All Pete can do is nod.

 

Yes, he's pissed. The authority has no right to raid bars, has no right to treat homosexuals the way they've been treated. They have to right to use all the words they do, faggot, tranny, dykes, perverts. And as he begins to think about these things, how Gabe died, how Will's losing his humanity, how Andy's gone to death row, he begins to find a spark inside him ignite. He's sick of his friends being treated the way they have been. He's sick of raids being a regular thing, he's sick of being discriminated against jus tbecause of who he loves. He's sick of being classified as nothing but a "faggot." And he's sick of being 'different.' 

 

He didn't come for a fight but he finds that he will fight to the end if he has to. This is his home, his community. His love. He's fighting for Patrick, for Ryan, for Travie, for Will. For Brendon and Tyler and Josh and Dallon. He's fighting for Hayley, for Lindsey. For Frank and G and Joe and Andy. And he's fighting for Gabe. For Gabe.

 

Pete runs with Patrick, shoving through the crowd. Something hits Pete in the shoulder but he only brushes it off and parts from Patrick, an idea forming in his head. He scrambles down the alleyway between Stonewall and searches desperately for something, anything.

 

And then he finds a brick. He grins, that spark lighting into a flame. Without thought, he turns back to the rioting, and sprints down the street to the nearest police car, hurling the brick at the window and watching it fall to pieces with a satisfying crash.

 

"That's for Will and Gabe and Andy you fuckers!" Pete yells.

 

But the next thing he knows, something's hit him hard and he's falling to the ground, trying his best to catch himself, but his vision flickers. Soon enough, it turns black.

 

It all goes silent.

 


	12. Chapter 12

July 10th, 1969

 

Pete feels a dull ache echoing through his skull, pulling at his brains and sending him groaning, reaching up to touch it. He feels a softness under the pads of his fingers, like a bed, and as he reaches up to touch the tender muscle, he feels a bruise, formed and swollen. Pete winces, immediately pulling his hand back.

 

"Patrick?" He groans, opening his eyes. But this isn't Patrick's room. Or his own. Above him is a bright white ceiling, an IV hooked up to his arm beside him and a couple seats surrounding him, empty. This is a hospital room. He remembers the riots, and then throwing that brick, and then. And then something hitting the back of his head. Hard. It must have been a cop. Or a homophobe. He has no idea. Pete launches up from the bed, and looks to the calendar beside his bed, reading: July 10th. He was out for twelve days. Pete blinks away the slight shock but after a quick moment where he tries to recover, he looks around for a bell, a phone, something to talk to someone. Lucky enough, he finds one to his left hanging up on his wall and he immediately grabs it, dialing Patrick's number.

 

Brrr... Brrr... Brr...

 

"Patrick speaking, who is it?"

 

"Patrick? What happened? Why the fuck is it the tenth?"

 

"Pete? Is that you? Shit." Pete hears some shuffling then, "I'll be right over, get a nurse or something and let them know you're awake. Give me 20 minutes to get there."

 

"No, please, wait, what happened? Why? Am I okay? How is everyone else? Is Brendon okay?"

 

"We need to talk," Patrick says, "Just... let me get over there, okay?"

 

"O-Okay..."

 

"Get a nurse, alright?"

 

"Alright."

 

"I love you."

 

"I love you, too."

 

...

 

"Are you okay?"

 

Pete blinks, and replies after a moment, "I'm fucking gay."

 

"Honestly," Patrick whispers, "So am I."

 

***

 

"Pete?"

 

Pete's eyes jolt up from where they were looking to the doctor on the side of his bed, holding his jaw and asking how his head felt. At the door stands Patrick, a bag slung over his shoulder and a look of worry on his face, "Pete, oh my god, are you okay?"

 

"I'm fine," Pete says, but the doctor soon cuts in.

 

"He had some minor trauma to his head, as you already know. He's lucky to be alive right now, I would suggest keeping a better watch, both of you. I don't know what you were doing, or why, but watch out in the future," He turns back to Pete, "I would suggest keeping some ice on it so the swelling goes down, otherwise, you're alright to go home.

 

"Thanks, Doc," Patrick nods as he passes him to leave, almost immediately, Patrick shuts and locks the door and lunges forward, kissing Pete hard and passionate. Pete only kisses back, mumbling about how, "we need to talk," and, "I love you, but please Patrick," And then, "Goddamnit."

 

"I'm sorry, I just," Patrick kisses him again, "I missed you. The doctors said it was expected but I was afraid you'd never wake up." Patrick grips Pete's hair and kisses him again, deeper this time, "I love you."

 

"I love you, too," Pete gasps, "What happened? Is everyone okay?"

 

"I..." Patrick frowns slightly, pulling away but he doesn't leave Pete's lap, "It's... I don't..."

 

Pete's emotions of hope quickly drain and are filled with emptiness, anxiety, and fear, "Did... did someone get hurt?"

 

Patrick avoids Pete's eyes as he leans back, eventually just getting off and sitting at the end of the bed, "It's... It's worse. I don't... I mean..."

 

Pete's breathing stops.

 

"Who was it? Who... who died?"

 

Patrick's obviously trying to hold back tears as he avoids the question, but it's only so long before the answer spills and they're both sinking.

 

"Dallon, Travie, Josh, and Tyler." Patrick chokes.

 

"I..." Pete blinks, trying to process, trying to understand, trying to... trying to let it sink in, "All of them? G... Gone? But what about, I thought. Travie, and Dallon they couldn't have. What about... And Josh and Tyler, they both... Is Brendon okay?"

 

"Josh died in the riot, a police car exploded. He was caught, hit his head too hard and died instantly. Tyler committed suicide a couple days after the riots, he felt out of place, too much grief, and Brendon was sent back to jail for another month. He was all alone at the house, and he hung himself. They found the body on the fourth when he didn't answer any calls and nobody saw him around. Dallon was beaten to death by someone on the third. Someone who had seen them at the riot. They said that whoever it was wrote with his blood on the floor in his home, faggot. It was a hate crime, but the cops passed it off as nothing, they're 'trying' to find the murderer but nothing. Travie died in the riot as well. He was shot by a cop and it was called off as a felony murder. It was apparently a warning shot which just happened to hit him. Everyone is devastated. Brendon isn't the same as he was, and when I last visited him in jail, he was just... numb. Frank and G have also lost the spark. They aren't the same as they were."

 

Patrick's rambling on, but for some reason, Pete just lets him, trying to process but at the same time, just letting Patrick rant, and give his feelings. He's been alone, most likely, for the past week or two. He deserves a rest.

 

"That's... that's so many deaths Pete, too many deaths. Do you remember when Travie went ranting about how no more people have to die? And then he did. He fucking died. That's Andy, Gabe, Travie, Dallon, Tyler, and Josh. That's six people I knew, gone in a flash. I'm tired, Pete, I'm so fucking tired. I want it to be over, I don't wanna deal with all this fucking grief. I don't want any more people to die just because they love who they love. I don't want anyone else to go away. I'm supposed to be strong. I'm supposed to be like Frank. I'm supposed to stand on top of a building and scream about revolution and love. But all I can scream about is how all my friends are fucking dying in front of my eyes.

 

"When I first met them, they gave me a reason to keep going. They taught me that maybe it isn't worth it to stop. I felt... I felt unloved before I met them, and after visiting that bar, I felt good about myself. I felt that I could be loved. Travie and Gabe taught me that sex isn't wrong no matter what society teaches us. And that it's okay to want to feel a man, it's okay. It's normal, and it isn't something you should be afraid of. Josh and Tyler and Brendon all taught me to just... be who I want to be, and it's okay to be me, y'know? I'm the only me out there. Dallon taught me that people change, and so do I. And it's okay to be shy, it's okay to hang back in the crowd if I want. He was an amazing person and he just... he's gone. He's gone and he is never coming back, Pete. Gabe and Travie are dead. Dallon is dead. Andy is going to die in three weeks. Will is gone. Josh and Tyler are dead. All we have left are Hayley, Lindsey, Frank, Gee, Ryan, Brendon, you, me, and Joe. Brendon isn't the same. Joe is devastated no matter how much he tries to hold it back. Lindsey and Hayley are crumbling just as much as we are and Frank and Gee are losing everything they stood for. I..."

 

Patrick looks at Pete, crying hard by now. Pete has to admit, so is he.

 

"I'm afraid for us. I'm afraid that I'm going to die and leave you. Or you're going to die and leave me, y'know? I thought... I thought I'd lost you. I thought I'd lost you and I'd never see you again. You don't understand. We may have only met 4 months ago, but I've never felt so passionate about anyone before in my entire life. You mean the world to me, you complete me, and I'm so fucking afraid of losing that."

 

Pete lunges forward, kissing Patrick hard and taking in his tears.

 

"I would never leave you. Ever. We're going to survive. Trust me," Pete whispers.

 

"Promise?" Patrick whimpers.

 

"I promise."

 

***

 

"It was a failure," Ryan growls to Frank, everyone else standing around them, "I... I mean, it wasn't... I don't... I don't understand how you could be happy about what happened! Yes, more and more people are realizing this is an issue, but, Frank, it's not worth it. Do you remember what Travie said after the raid when The Ninth Circle went to shit? He talked about how it would only result in death. Another Gabe. And you know what happened?" Ryan laughs, hysterical and almost maniacal like he's lost his mind, "There were  _four_ of them. Dallon, Tyler, Josh, and Travie, himself. Pete almost went to jail, almost died, and Brendon  _did_  go to jail. It's only a couple more months until Andy's time on death row is up, and you  _know_  Will may not be dead, but he sure as hell is almost as gone as the rest of them. This whole... this whole revolution bullshit was great but it's turned to shit. This isn't a joke anymore, those were my  _friends_. There were, what? Fifteen of us when we started out? Well, guess what? There goes Dallon. Fourteen. Travie and Gabe. Damn, that's down to twelve. Josh, Tyler, Andy, and Will. That's  _eight_. Seven people we've lost.  _Seven_. Are you gonna just keep going through this until we're all dead or sent off to mental asylums to be rid of our, what was it? Our sicknesses? Everything is bullshit, Frank. And you know it. Going out to Stonewall was a horrible idea. We all know it."

 

"You agreed to it!" Frank snaps, "You fucking agreed to it, Ry. Don't put all the blame on me. This was  _your_  choice to join in. This was  _your_  choice to fight for what's right. You knew the price might be high, but guess what. You decided to go anyways.  _You. Fucking. Agreed._ "

 

"I DIDN'T REALIZE THE PRICE WOULD BE SO HIGH!" Ryan screams at them.

 

"Well maybe you should have thought that through,  _Ruth_."

 

There's an audible gasp throughout the room and even Hayley snaps at Frank for a moment to cut it out.

 

"You take that back," Ryan whispers, the meanest, most hateful glare Pete's ever seen flashing through his eyes, "Take. It. Back."

 

"Or what? Huh? Are you gonna take away my hormones? Oh, I forgot,  _I don't need any_."

 

Ryan screams, lunging forward and knocking Frank against the wall, punching them as hard as they can but Frank pushes them off, shoving them to the ground and slamming their fist into his face. Lindsey is the first person between them, kicking Frank hard in the balls while Patrick grabs Ryan and pulls him away.

 

" _Enough_ ," Joe shouts. The room goes silent and everyone's attention turns to him, distracting Ryan and Frank from each other, "Frank, quit guilt tripping other people for things they didn't know would happen. Ryan, don't attack Frank. I know they're an asshole but they don't deserve it. We need to keep being friends. It's hard. I know we've lost people we will never get back, but that doesn't mean we can resort to fighting. I don't know what your plans are but I feel we need to just. Take a break. I'm going to make a memorial at The Ninth Circle on August 1st, and if anyone wants to join me, that's fine. But don't expect me to come to any more of your little meetings.

 

"Look, we've all lost. We're all grieving. Pushing each other isn't going to help. Fighting isn't going to help. Right now, we just need to take a deep breath, and be okay. I'm tired of everything, and... honestly... everything that's happened has taken a toll on all of us. We just... We need time to recover. Don't you agree?"

 

There's a small ripple of nods through G, Lindsey, Hayley, Pete, Patrick, Frank, and Ryan. Joe gives his own, staccato and gentle, "Good. I'm leaving now. Please, just...  _try_  to take it easy."

 

Patrick looks to Pete and Ryan looks to Frank, finally relaxing a little as the door shuts and they're left alone.

 

"We should... We should take a break," Hayley mumbles, "I... I'll talk to you all later, Lindsey?"

 

Lindsey nods, following Hayley and leaving Ryan, Pete, Patrick, and Frank left in the room.

 

"I guess they're right," Frank mumbles, defeated, "Get out of here, guys. We need to just take it easy. Take time to grieve, yeah?"

 

"Yeah," Patrick and Pete reply.

 

"I'll see you the first then?"

 

"Sure. Bye, guys."

 

"Bye."


	13. Chapter 13

July 18th, 1969

 

Pete is wide awake beside Patrick, tracing the lines of his back, feeling the warmth of his skin warm his own hands. It's soft, gentle, almost as much as what they were doing no more than twenty minutes ago. Patrick is still awake, Pete feels it, but he's slowly falling asleep, eyes shut and breathing slowing. He has freckles across his back Pete hasn't noticed before. He has a lot of freckles, but there are big ones across the skin of his back. As he takes a deep breath, Pete's lips begins to trace his neck.

 

"I love you," He breathes, "So much."

 

"I love you, too," Patrick mumbles, "Go to sleep..."

 

"No, I can't," Pete whispers, "C'mon, let's do something."

 

"It's too late, you have work tomorrow."

 

"It's Friday."

 

"Well... I'm tired."

 

Pete grumbles something about how Patrick's lazy, but Patrick immediately takes his hand and squeezes it hard, "Do you want me to like... jerk you off or something? Would that make you tired enough to sleep?"

 

"I'm not even hard," Pete replies, "And I feel like it would just make it worse. Come on. It's a Friday. Let's just get out of here, go to a gay bar even if it isn't The Ninth Circle. I wanna get out of here, I wanna see someone. Or just... something cheesy. Do you wanna watch a movie? Go to a drag race?"

 

Patrick whines, but eventually, he turns to Pete and straddles him, kissing his lips, "Fuck you." 

 

"You already have," Pete mumbles, "What about we go to a kink club if you're that horny, huh? Something. I can't sleep. I don't wanna sleep."

 

"You've never even been in the leather scene, we aren't going to a kink club," Patrick chuckles.

 

"Okay, then, how about... we do something else." Pete mumbles.

 

"Just... Let's do something here and now, yeah?" Patrick chuckles, "I wanna show you something, okay? Let me just. I feel like this might help."

 

Pete cocks an eyebrow as Patrick pushes him back on the bed and pulls out a few things from the bedside drawer. A cockring, a bottle of lube, and a vibrator, cordless. Pete's eyes widen as Patrick also grabs his shoe, unlacing it and pulling out the string in a little under a minute before pulling Pete's hands and tying them to bedframe.

 

"Are you interested in the leather community?" Patrick grins, a spark of playfulness in his tone.

 

"I-I mean, I haven't really thought about it. It's something... I mean... It would be cool to get into but it's not something I've really thought about, y'know?" Pete replies, a bit of nervousness in his voice.

 

"If you don't wanna do this, we don't have to, but I'm not going out," Patrick says.

 

"I wanna do it," Pete rushes, "I really do, I've just... I'm not experienced."

 

Patrick replies, "You don't have to be. Just do what I say, if it becomes too much, tell me to knock it off, yeah?"

 

"Okay."

 

Patrick presses the ring over Pete's cock, pressing a soft kiss to the tip and taking in the small gasp Pete lets out with a chuckle, "Cute."

 

Pete watches carefully as Patrick grabs the vibe and crawls between Pete's legs, licking up his chest and taking in the soft moan Pete emits. Pete's lip is white between his teeth, bright and swollen and as Patrick lowers the object to the other's cock and turns it on, it's quickly released along with a long, low groan from Pete's lips.

 

"Patrick..."

 

"Does that feel good?" Pete whispers, lowering the toy to Patrick's base and back up, watching him shudder and moan in reply. "You're such a good boy, I'm sure you're a slut for praise, and I know you haven't done this before but you're doing so well, so well for me."

 

"Ngh, Patrick," Pete raises his hips as Patrick lowers it to his balls, avoiding the metal cockring because he knows that would hurt bad and Pete isn't exactly a masochist. Pete cries out when the vibe lowers to his balls, massaging and buzzing across each one before continuing back up to the tip of Pete's cock, dripping clear, "Patrick, I-"

 

Ring ring! Ring ring!

 

Both their eyes turn out the door and Patrick gets up when it rings again.

 

"Let me get it," Pete protests, but Patrick only presses the vibe back onto his cock, holding it there and making sure it won't move.

 

"If that's off your cock when you get back, I won't let you cum tonight. Understood?" Patrick asks. Ring ring!

 

"Yes, Sir," Pete squeaks.

 

Patrick heads downstairs, picking up the phone right away and answering with as relaxes of a voice he can muster when he's buckass naked in the middle of his kitchen at 9 at night while his boyfriend is moaning and whining upstairs and he's got an aching hardon between his thighs. It isn't something you exactly wanna hold a civil conversation through.

 

"Hello, this is Patrick speaking," He says.

 

"Patrick? Is Pete there? I wanna talk to him if I can," Ryan replies, soft and nervous.

 

"I'm afraid he's a bit busy right now, but I can transfer the message if you'd like," Patrick suggests.

 

"Okay, I just... Would it be alright if he came and took me to Creedmoor tomorrow? I hear Will isn't doing so great and I'm worrying. We got in and out just fine last time, I just wanna check in on him again, y'know?"

 

"Yeah, of course, I'll tell him to do th-"

 

"Shit!"

 

"The fuck was that?" Ryan asks, suddenly concerned.

 

"Uhm. Just the washing machine," Patrick coughs.

 

"Washing machines don't say- Patrick... you kinky little shit." Patrick can hear Ryan's grin through the phone.

 

"Shut up, Ross, I gotta go. But I'll tell him, yeah?"

 

"Okay, ya fuckin slut."

 

"I'm obviously not the one with the cockring on, yeah?"

 

"You're an idiot, Pete."

 

"Love you, too," Pete grins, "I'll see you around, yeah?"

 

"Sure," Ryan mumbles, "Bye."

 

***

 

Ryan's smoking a cigarette the next day when Pete shows up, Patrick in the passenger seat and Pete driving, a grim expression on his face, almost set in stone. His eyes look troubled and sad, broken in a way that only he really understands. His hair is a curly mess, he obviously didn't put much effort into his look today but neither Patrick nor Ryan care much. It's a sad day, it's not one you'd spend selfishly. Ryan opens the car door and climbs inside, shutting it soon after and buckling himself in.

 

"I brought Patrick along as well, I hope you don't mind too much," Pete says.

 

"It's fine." Ryan goes quiet and Pete worries slightly. Something's up, this isn't like last time and it isn't just because Patrick is here this time. As Pete begins to drive, Ryan's lips part, then close, then part again, and finally a soft sound comes out. Something somewhat resembling a, "Will..."

 

"Hmm?" Patrick looks back at him but Ryan only avoids his gaze and looks out the window.

 

"Will's been... I've heard from a friend that he's not 'improving.' Or at least not how the doctors or his parents want him to. And. They've been talking about... about how if the electroshock therapy doesn't work then... they might..." Ryan sniffles, Pete didn't even realize he was crying. "They might... l-lobotomize him."

 

"Lobotomize him?" Patrick growls, a sudden fire in him, "Are they fucking serious? Don't they know how fucking inhumane that is?"'

 

"Apparently not..."

 

"Y'know, the last lobotomy that anyone's done was back in 19-fucking-67. Two years ago. It's an old practice and it's a good thing it's going away."

 

"Apparently not," Ryan whispers, eyes low and dead, "They say it's just a possibility, it's only been two weeks since they started electroshock therapy so. I guess it's still just a possibility. But still doesn't make it any better. I guess it's just... I dunno. I guess it's just something that we can't change but. Still hurts, y'know?"

"It's fucked," Pete growls, "It's absolutely fucked and I hate it. So much. It's not a fucking illness that you can just cure. It's a valid thing and all those fucking homophobes are just asswipes."

Ryan shrugs, obviously defeated. Pete doesn't blame him, though, he doesn't know how devastated he'd be if he was in the same situation with Patrick instead of Will. He loves Patrick with his heart and soul, he couldn't imagine losing him. Ever.

"I hope they die," Patrick mumbles, "Pieces of shit."

"Me, too," Pete replies as they pull up to the gates. There's a new lady at the front this time, dark skinned and a cigarette hanging out from her lips.

 

"Welcome to Creedmoor Mental Facility. Can I get names, please?" She says.

 

"I'm Gabriel Saporta and this is Dallon Weekes and Travie McCoy." Pete replies as casually as possible.

 

"Alright, go right in, be sure to check in at the front desk once you're there, though."

 

"Thank you!" Pete calls as they pull forward back into the parking lot he left only two weeks ago. He feels slightly relieved to know they made it through without suspicion, but he also knows that if they use their true names, there's no way they'd be let in.

 

"Why'd you lie?" Patrick asks as they park and Pete turns off the car.

 

"They probably have Ryan's name documented. He  _is_  Will's boyfriend after all."

 

"Right," Patrick nods, joining Pete as they head up the steps and into the front room, greeted by only one security guard and one person at the counter. He swears there were two last time, or at least more people. Maybe they're just a little understaffed.

 

"Welcome to Creedmoor Mental Facility, how may I help you today?" The man smiles, charming and gentle.

 

"I'm Gabriel Saporta and this is Dallon Weekes and Travie McCoy. We're here to visit William Beckett as family friends."

 

The man nods, writing something down into a check in list before looking back up and picking up the phone to dial the loudspeaker like last time, "William Beckett to the Visiting Center, please, William Beckett to the Visiting Center, thank you." He hangs up the phone and raises his eyes, "Alright, just straight down the hall and to the right, thank you for visiting!"

 

Ryan rolls his eyes as he goes ahead of Pete and Patrick, taking a sharp right and immediately pressing open the doors at the end of the hall. Patrick is still looking around but Pete and Ryan already know how this goes. They're obviously much more confident than last time and, though, it hurt, though, it pulled open Ryan's skin and bones, he's still eager to meet Will again. Pete watches Ryan carefully as he gazes at the door on the other side of the room with such an intent expression, Pete's afraid he'll burn a hole right through the lock.

 

" _Don't make me go, no more. NO MORE!"_

Ryan gasps as the doors swing open and Will comes out, screaming and struggling against the man holding him and pressing him forward and into the seat. Will's crying, screaming like an absolute lunatic, begging for it to end. Pete swallows hard as Will curls up in the chair, sobbing into his hands.

 

"I apologize, he's been having a bit of a bad day today," The man says with a slight tone of disgust, "I'll be back in 30,  _don't_  make him relapse. He's a piece of work."

 

Just like that, the security guard leaves and Will is left alone, crying and shaking. Visibly shaking. Hard as if he's about to go into a panic. Ryan rushes to the end of the counter, jumping over the part in one go and immediately grabs Will in his arms, hushing him and petting his hair but Will only screams and falls back onto the floor, eyes wide, almost cloudy. As if... as if he doesn't even recognize Ryan...

 

"Get  _away_  from me!" Will screams.

 

"Will, Will, please, it's Ryan. It's Ryan, it's me, Love. C'mon..."

 

Will shakes his head, curling up into a ball and plugging his ears, shutting his eyes tight, "No, no, no. No more. I don't like it, I don't like it. Not again. Don't shock me. Don't shock me, I'm not sick. I'm not sick."

 

"Of course you're not, Baby," Ryan whispers, lowering down to Will's level but doesn't touch him, "You're not, you're not sick. None of us are, your parents are just fucking homophobic assholes."

 

Will sniffles, shaking his head as he shudders, "None of us are... None... None of us. None of us."

 

"Oh god, Will..." Ryan whispers, wiping the tears from his eyes, "What did they do to you...? It's only been two weeks... And they've turned you into this..."

 

Will looks up at Ryan, his tears still there, but slowly sliding down his cheeks to meet the floor. The tiniest bit of sanity seems to return to his eyes as he looks over at Ryan and his eyes widen as they meet them.

 

"R-Ryan... Ryan..."

 

"You remember me, right?" Ryan whispers, "Oh... please tell me you remember me..."

 

"Ryan... I..." Will gasps, and his eyes widen even further as he repeats the name once more, " _Ryan_."

 

"Yes, it's me, it's me, you're safe. You're safe."

 

Will collapses into Ryan's arms, kissing him hard and hugging him close, refusing to let go. Pete and Patrick smile softly from where they stand on the other side of the glass obviously a little relieved that Will's come to his senses and has realized that the boy sitting in front of him has all their love spread out for him. Pete grabs onto Patrick's hand and with a small sigh, he buries his face into Patrick's chest, shutting his eyes. There's a soft silence through the room besides Will and Ryan's gentle sobs as they kiss each other, mumbling about how much they missed each other.

 

"What did they do to you, WIll? What's it like in there? Huh? Why are you so afraid, it hurts, Baby, you know that..."

 

"It's so scary," Will immediately whispers, "It's fucking horrible. They're understaffed and there are so many fights. They pick on me, call me a faggot and a dirty cocksucker and sometimes if... sometimes if it's late at night and they're bored... they... they..."

 

He doesn't continue, only stops and stares at Ryan's sweater with dead eyes. Ryan blinks, their eyes beginning to grow extremely concerned. "Will?"

 

"I don't wanna have sex ever again, Ry." Is all Will says and Ryan immediately gets it, eyes widening.

 

"Will..."

 

"They've continued the electroshock therapy. They do it about twice a day. Just like last time. Just strap me down and put those things on my head and... they make it hurt so bad, Ryan..."

 

"They don't use anesthesia?" Patrick asks, coming forward. Will jumps but he quickly recognizes him and shakes his head.

"They don't give me any medication. They said they were running low and it works better without them anyways..." Will mumbles, "It's... It's fine... I mean... It's not as bad as the other stuff. But it's still scary."

"That's up to 400 fucking volts of power," Patrick exclaims, " _100_  volts could kill a person."

 

Ryan immediately grows more worried as he looks down at Will, "Oh god... Baby."

 

Ryan nuzzles their forehead into Will's shoulder, sniffling as he begins crying again, "Why can't you just pretend, why can't you just save yourself, please..."

 

"What do you mean?" Will asks.

 

"Just pretend you're heterosexual, just pretend you don't love boys, pretend that you love girls instead."

 

Will blinks as if Ryan just said something excessively stupid and the damn kid needs a brain check of his own.

 

"What are you talking about? Why would I pretend?"

 

"So you can get out of here!" Ryan exclaims.

 

"Why would I want to do that?"

 

"Because you're not fucking sick and it's bullshit what they've put you through to 'cure' you."

 

Will frowns.

 

"But... they are curing me. That's what they're here to do, isn't it?

"I  _am_  sick, aren't I?"


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! It's been a while. Don't forget to leave a kudos, a comment, or share. Thank you!

**August 12th, 1969**

Patrick's smoking a cigarette outside, his eyes gazing up at the dark sky and the people in overcoats and fedoras walking by. They are living, and breathing, and feeling. Patrick wishes he could feel, but he can't. He's turned numb. They're on the bring of a revolution. He'll be the Martin Luther King Jr. of the gays, transfolk, and drag queens. They all will. He still hears people in the streets mumble the n-word. This country has a lot to learn, a lot to accept. He still hears "faggot" and "dyke" and "tranny" being whispered on the streets. About Stonewall. About how "crazy" those "homophiles" were. He wishes it would go away, he really does. They're on the brink of leather jackets and basic human rights. They don't want straights to die, they just want them to learn to respect like any normal person. But he guesses normal people are supposedly just straight, white, males. It really burns him out.

 

It's not something they could just take to the street either. They could be killed if they're seen as homosexuals. They can't hand out fliers, hold speeches, use common-fucking-sense because they're disgusting. Patrick is the kind of guy to creep on 8-year-olds and offer them candy at the park. There's no such thing as a "good" homosexual, only the ones who sacrifice themselves at stupid riots and die because they couldn't be "normal." The only good homosexual is a straight one.

 

He takes a deep drag, holds it, feels it burn, and lets it out through his nose, coughing slightly in the process. And then he feels a hand on his hip and Pete is beside him, gazing out the alleyway and feeling Patrick's chest warm against his forehead. Patrick hugs him close, throws the cigarette to the ground, and doesn't let go.

 

"I love you, Trick," Pete whispers.

 

"I love you, too. You doing okay?" Patrick asks, genuinely concerned.

 

"Fine," Pete replies, looking over Patrick's shoulder at the door to The Ninth Circle, "Just... fine."

Patrick sighs against him, kisses his forehead and holds him closer than before, "I'm nervous."

"Aren't we all?" Pete replies, sadly, "We should go inside, they're waiting."

"I don't want to," Patrick whispers, "I can't."

"Yes you can," Pete says, and he leans in closer, his lips right up to Patrick's ear, "They would have wanted you to."

Patrick lowers his eyes, examines his shoes, and with one last breath, he nods in defeat, turning to Pete.

"Okay. Fine. I'll... I'll go."

Pete grins, taking his hand and pulling him closer. "Good."

Patrick follows Pete back through the alleyway and down the small set of stairs to the bar. Pete can't help remembering the first time he'd come down those stairs. Some scrawny kid from back in March when the LGBT community was still just a thing that nobody cared about. Now? It's in every newspaper, headlining, "Fags, Dykes, and Trannies March In The Street Protesting Against Heterosexuality." Of course it went on to talk about how all the "male trannies" were a bunch of "negroes" who "needed to learn their place." That night, Pete had made a fire in the backyard and had burned that bullshit. He hates how the news treats it all. There's maybe one or two companies who support it but even they barely talk about it. 

Pete's just tired of all the bullshit of how people treat them. Travis didn't die because he wanted to, he died because he was fucking killed. And he was just carded as "yet another failure of society." Just a nigger who was confused. Gabe was just confused. Gabe was just some faggot, he wasn't a real man. Too feminine. Too flamboyant. Too outgoing.

Pete shakes himself of the thought and follows Patrick inside the bar, The Ninth Circle shining in neon just beside the door. Joe's heading inside, too, eyes dead and cold. He's dragging his feet, his hood is up, and he just looks so empty, it's sad. Pete's eyes lower. He feels a wave of dread cross over himself as well and he can't help but grab Patrick's hand for comfort. Patrick squeezes back.

They follow Joe inside, through the doorway and into the building. The bar sits untouched, broken glass scattering the floor, blood. And in the middle of the room, where the couches once sat where Pete had first come to meet everyone, instead sits a memorial. Pictures. Six of them. Two rows. In the first sits Will, a polaroid of him sitting in Ryan's lap, a grin on his face. Much more sane than he is now. Much more... normal. His hair is long, brown, and his twinky body perches light on the other's as he just stares at his boyfriend with a look of pure admiration. Pete looks to Ryan, who's now sitting in front of the memorial, hugging himself tight while Brendon sits beside him, out of drag.

The next picture is of Josh and Tyler, Josh passed out on a couch while Tyler strokes his hair and Brendon sticks his tongue out at the camera, in full drag. Blond hair, strong jaw, dark dress. Tyler doesn't even notice him, making the picture all the more comical. And all the more sad. Pete's eyes continue to the next picture, Travis. It's his high school yearbook picture, he looks much younger than he was when he died. His face softer, his eyes lighter, and a gleam to his dark skin. It didn't matter that he was black. He was fucking amazing for it, brave. He didn't choose to be who he is, but he takes pride in it anyways. Because he loves it. He was taught to be ashamed, and so he was proud. He was taught that blacks are disgusting, and he was taught that he can't be loved. He just yelled right back that he can love who he love, and he can be black, even if nobody else agrees. Because it's okay to take pride in yourself.

It's okay to be who you are.

His lover sits in the next picture, looking up at Patrick, his jaw sharp and a grin across his lips. His eyes are crinkled and he looks so happy, leaning back on the couch. He's got a shimmer to his skin, sweat from sex or the heat of the room, Patrick can't tell. But he looks happy. Unharmed. There is no bullethole in that chest. On the middle picture of the bottom row, there's Andy, kissing Joe. Pete feels a stab through his heart and he takes a deep breath to stop himself from crying. He's just content, leaning into Joe on the tips of his toes, tattoos down his arms while Joe holds him there, hair wild. The last picture is of Dallon, wearing a black skirt and a sweater, eyes shut as they lean against the wall, fingers in pockets and brown hair pulled back. They look so peaceful. Pete hopes they feel that way now. Hopes they're doing okay wherever they are. 

Flowers decorate the whole memorial, roses and tulips and daisies. Irises and amaryllises. Pinks and blues and reds and purples, greens and yellows and oranges and blacks. And seven candles sit in front of them. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, pink. Tyler, Josh, Travis, Gabe, Andy, Will, and Dallon. 

Pete looks away from the memorial to look around at the other people here. There's everyone who went to the bar. The man who had announced the winner at the drag race the first time Pete had ever been there, the other two drag queens and at least 10 or 20 other people: Lesbians, kink, gays, bisexuals, drag queens, transgenders, non-gendered. Black, brown, tan, white. Patrick recognizes almost everyone, Pete doesn't know anyone. But by the blood stains on the floor, he knows why they're here. And by how Frank's climbing up on the stage, he knows how they got here.

"Listen up, everyone!" Frank calls throughout the room, but it doesn't make much of a dent in the sound of people talking throughout the room. They growl and then yell out a little louder, "Attention up here!  _Please!"_

But there's still nothing. Pete looks around to see if he could do anything but the next thing he knows, Brendon's calling out in a loud voice, "EVERYBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

 

The room goes silent and Pete swears he could hear a pin drop if he focused hard enough. Frank nods at Brendon with a thankful but serious expression on their face, "I want to thank everyone for coming here, it really means a lot and I feel like it's important that we can mourn the deaths of those we lost together. It's utter bullshit about what happened. That people can die just because of who they love. Gay rights, drag rights, trans rights, lesbian rights are  _all_ human rights. And we need to treat it as such.

 

"Right now, we are all sad, we are all in denial, all grieving for those we lost. Right now, we need to heal. Mourn. We are all in this together," Frank looks to G who just gazes right back, a fondness on their face, "And together, we will stay." They look back up. "If anyone would like to say a word about Travis, Gabe, Will, Tyler, Josh, Andy, or Dallon, please come up. Thank you."

 

Frank steps down from the stage and hugs G close, tears in their eyes. G only wipes their tears away and takes them away to one of the private rooms. Pete knows they're completely platonic, G is aromantic and asexual. They don't want to be in a romantic or sexual relationship, so instead them and Frank are just really good friends.

 

Ryan is the first up, sitting on the stage beside the memorial. His eyes are low, empty. Ever since the last visit to the hospital, he hasn't been the same. Ever since they first talked about... the lobotomy. Ryan looks drained and Pete knows he's been smoking a lot of pot lately to calm his nerves. It's unhealthy. But he hasn't been back to the hospital in fear of seeing Will's parents there. He's just been... empty. Everything about him seems empty

 

"Well, uh," Ryan sniffs, his nose runny. From tears or sickness, Pete wouldn't be able to tell, "If you knew Will, you probably know that he was my boyfriend. We've been together for a while and uh... things aren't going so well... I know a lot of you are confused as to why his picture is up here. He isn't dead, no, but he's been admitted to a mental hospital. Creedmoor. And there's been talk of him being lobotomized. He's been going through conversion therapy since the raid. Shock therapy, talk therapy. All these kinds of therapies, just because he loves me."

 

Ryan wipes their nose, not looking up once, "I guess I just never really expected it... would happen to me... I'm not sure... I just... Things are weird. I don't like that his parents support it. I don't like that he's gone and he may not recognize me the next time I visit the hospital. I don't like that he cries for me when he finally recognizes me. I don't like that they can't even put him under anesthesia when they attach wires to his head. I... I don't like that he thinks he's sick when he's not.

 

"I just, wish things were different." Ryan finally looks up, dead eyes to the crowd, "I'm tired of death. Of people calling my baby sick when he's not. I'm tired of not being able to love a man because God will condemn me for it."

 

There's an applause when Ryan steps down from the stage and sits off in some corner, grabbing a cigarette and lighting it with shaking hands. Pete's eyes narrow but they soon turn to where Brendon's starting his speech on Josh and Tyler. How he had been abused by his wife for about a year before he finally left. How Josh and Tyler had lifted him up from his darkened spirits and given him a new life. It's inspiring in a way, how someone could go from such a depressed state of mind to someone who is happy, whose life is full of joy and love... and then all the way back down to stage 1. How life has these cycles of depression and happiness. It's sad. Bittersweet and it pulls Pete closer to Patrick, asking for some sort of comfort. Patrick holds his hand and kisses his forehead.

 

"It's okay," Patrick whispers.

 

"You're safe."

 

***

 

About three hours pass, people talk about Travis and Gabe and Josh and Tyler and Will and Dallon and Andy. It makes Pete's heart ache for everyone who has lost, for himself as well. Because all those wounds are still fresh. Gabe lying dead, a blank stare on his face while dark red, metallic blood litters the floor. Tyler, a rope around his neck. Josh, a bulletwound through his head and Travis, beaten and cold on the city sidewalk. Dallon, laying blank right beside him. Will, screaming for it to stop, for something to end the pain that jolts through his bones. Andy, strapped down to a cold metal chair.

 

Patrick goes up, talks about how they need to fight back, but it's obvious all the hope has been drained from the room. There is nothing left to fight for. It's depressing. It's all over.

 

Those three hours pass and in the dead silence, right as G is finishing up their speech about Dallon, the phone at the bar rings. Everyone's attention goes to it in surprise, shock, and confusion. That phone never gets any calls and while Joe is trying to fix the place up, he didn't think reactivating the phone would even get any calls. But sure enough, it's ringing. Pete looks up to Patrick and Patrick looks right back but neither of them grab it. Joe does.

 

After a few seconds of listening and a, "Yes, okay..." he looks up and says with a gentle voice.

 

"It's for Ryan. It's Will's parents.

 

"The surgery is over."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! It's been a while. Don't forget to leave a kudos, a comment, or share. Thank you!


	15. Chapter 15

Ryan stares at Joe, his eyes immediately turning even more dead than they were before. They blink, but he doesn't move. His eyes are looking right into Joe's, looking for some sort of hardness to his eyes, but they're only soft. Joe is being sincere. Ryan doesn't know what to do, to say. He looks for help but he has nothing. They try to process what's happened but they can't. They're ruined. Their heart has been torn away and burned to ash. And Will... oh, Will. The lobotomy. It's all over.

Ryan is blank, he doesn't look okay, but how could he be? He's terrified. He's fucking scared and he doesn't know what to do, how to react. His boyfriend, Will, he's gone. What happened? Is he okay? Does he remember Ryan? Will he? Is he going to be blank like everyone always is after the ice pick? What's Ryan supposed to do? Is he allowed to see him? What if they're just kicked out and he can never see him again? What does this mean for their relationship. What does this mean for everything? What if it's just... over? And Ryan's just supposed to move on. will isn't going to survive from this, and Ryan knows it. He won't be the same He can't be... nobody ever is. Nobody. And Ryan knows, they fucking know that it's not going to be okay. No matter how much he wishes it would be.

The whole room is staring at him, everyone is dead silent. It's Ryan's life. They don't get a say in what he does, in how he reacts. They were close to Will, but they didn't know him like Ryan did. They don't know what Will cried about late at night when everything just seemed like nothing really mattered. Nobody else was there when Ryan had kissed Will and told him it's okay, and he's okay and Ryan will never leave him. Nobody was there when Will had come home from his parents, dead in his eyes and fingers digging into his pockets. Nobody was there when Ryan had to tell him that he's amazing, and it's okay that he loves who he loves and that it's not a choice and that he's not going to hell for being in love. God forgives and loves His children. And maybe God isn't even real, He's just something some people made up to have an excuse for killing gay and trans people. Maybe God is just an excuse for getting away with things that shouldn't be gotten away with.

Ryan knows that nobody else really understands like he does. Ryan knows that they're the only one who really has a say in what happens, and that scares him. It fucking terrifies him. He doesn't want to be independant. He doesn't know what to do, how to react. They want to cry, and scream. They want to forget because they want it all back to the way things were. He wants to be back, eight months ago, hugging Will close and smiling with him about how Brendon isn't going to lose this next competition because he's got this new costume idea. He misses kissing him, and hugging him, and making love to him. He misses the way his body would tense up under his touch and how they would throw their head back when they felt the white clouding everything.

Ryan is alone, he's never felt this alone in his life, and he doesn't know how to handle it. He doesn't know how he's going to make it. Will he? Can he? Or will it just be a giant flop. Will he make the wrong choice? Or will he break? Will he cry and scream and die? Just like Will did?

Because right now, his entire body is breaking. He doesn't know what do to. He doesn't know. And it scares him. It fucking terrifies him.

He turns, sees Patrick and Pete standing there, sympathy in their eyes, overflowing. Pete is crying, quiet. Ryan is emotionless. He doesn't know where to go, what to do. And he wants comfort. He wants to cry, but he knows he can't. Not even if they tried. They're completely dead inside. They're denying it all. Because Will can't be... it can't be like that. Will's still at home just sleeping it all away and it isn't a problem because everything is okay and everything will always be okay. Because Ryan fucking loves him and he always will.

Ryan takes a breath, trying to calm down, trying to just... relax. Because it's not happening. It's all a dream. A nightmare. A terror that's been stirring inside of them for a while now. It's not real. IT never will be. But deep down they know it isn't going to work. It never has. Will could never calm down, not even with Ryan's help.

"I want to see him," They say before they can think twice, staring right at Pete. Patrick beside him. G standing with Frank and Brendon to their left and Lindsey and Hayley to his right. But Ryan is focused on Pete. Pete is all he wants. Pete is the only one that can really calm him down. He doesn't know why, they haven't even known Pete for that long but something about him... just calms him down. It's Pete who was there when Will was wearing all white and crying about the pain. 

No more pain.

"I want to see him," Ryan repeats for no real reason, "I... I need to. We need to go."

"Let me take you," G says, Frank stepping forward but Ryan immediately flinches and tears himself away from Frank's touch.

"No," Ryan says, too loud, "No... I want Pete... Pete and Patrick. Please..."

Frank looks to G and after a moment, G nods pulling Frank back and Ryan looks to Pete who's surprised as is the rest of the group, Patrick keeps his composure and nods, holding out his hand for Ryan to take, but it's less forceful, more... open. Ryan doesn't take it, though. They don't want to be touched. They don't want anything but to see Will.

"Do you want me to tell them?" Joe asks, still on the phone with Will's parents.

"No, just hang up..." Ryan says, "I don't want them... I just... Just... Shut up."

Joe winces but he hangs up the phone anyways, concerned about how Ryan's acting. He's never really acted so... aggressive in all the time Joe has known him. He's always been sweet and calm and gentle but this... this isn't Ryan. This is something deep inside him that's been building for a long while. This is denial and anger and depression and stress. This is every negative emotion Ryan could stir up. This is everything he's been bottling up for years. Every single thing he hates about Will's parents. It's all coming out and Joe can see that they're just barely holding it in. Or maybe they don't even mean to... maybe...

No...

This is Ryan. This is Ryan, he's numb. And he's never felt a pain like this. This is worse than a dislocated joint or a broken bone. This is everything that Ryan could ever feel. Building upon each other and blocking it all out. Ryan is numb. He doesn't know how to feel, what to feel. And Joe knows Ryan. They've been friends for years. Ryan isn't one to forgive and forget easily. This is something that will take a long time to heal. This is something much more than a papercut, and it's all coming out as a papercut. This is Ryan's pain and anguish for years. This is everything he's ever felt about Will's parents. And Joe knows it hurts.

Ryan is overstimulated and dying and screaming on the inside but keeping everything okay on the outside. This is Ryan.

And Ryan wants to fucking leave and kill Will's parents despite the fat it wouldn't help anything. This is Ryan wanting to just get the fuck out and this is Ryan clenching their fists because they can't take it anymore.

He takes a breath and walks past Patrick and Pete who immediately follow them. They feel the mood, too. The emotion radiating off of Ryan, but al kept down to a short... numb feeling that keeps him in check. It's all okay because he shows nothing He isn't weak. Even though it wouldn't make him weak. It's just how he is. Strong, and tired. And everything... everything is just too much for him. They all know it. Will meant the world to Ryan, he still does. But Ryan's world was just taken away. It was crushed and burned and hurt so badly that there's no going back. They don't know what to expect. They don't know what to do. Will was just...

Will isn't Will. He can't be. He's going to be braindead, attached to a feeding tube. Blank eyed, fingers limp, his entire body limp. Ryan's never personally known anyone who's gone through a lobotomy but they know that it isn't good. It's never good. It's something nobody wants to understand. It's something that hurts worse than anything else. It's like loving someone who goes into a coma. They're not dead, it's not over. they're still fighting, but it's useless. Because it's over.

It's all over. Ryan knows it.

***

Ryan watches out the window as they pass through the different mansions. It's always kind've made him depressed how rich these people are but also how cruel and horrid they can be to their own children. Will's always grown up in a rich family, one that's very pridefulf and values religion and family. As if a gay in the family would tear it all apart. Ryan wonders, internally, if maybe this wasn't even an attempt at making Will any better, but... instead a way to punish him. Lobotomies aren't used much anymore. And when they are, they're safer than they were twenty years ago. But this... this barely feels safe. They know deep down that Will's family knew it wouldn't be safe and that he wouldn't ever be the same. But he also knows that they probably want it that way. That maybe they want Will to suffer. They want him to forget that Ryan ever existed. It hurts. 

Ryan thinks they probably found someone private to do the lobotomy, probably some 'doctor' from Europe who's skilled at even the hardest and most complicated procedures. Will knows it would never be safe, even if the doctor was safe. Lobotomies aren't common for a reason. It had to have been a bribe. It wasn't official business, it's the kind of illegal shit you'd do behind an alleyway. The kind that's unclean and unsafe but costs thousands to preform. Something that could be avoided... if only Ryan was more careful. He could have gotten Will out of the bar before the cops got there. It wouldn't have to have turned into what it did. If only he could have brought Will somewhere safer where they wouldn't be harmed... and Will would be okay. And while he would still have to live in fear... he could still live.

The houses grow more familiar and it doesn't take long for the car to come to a stop, Pete and Patrick immediately gazing back at Ryan with a look of concern. Pete doesn't know what to say. Patrick doesn't either. And the silence is deafening. It hurts and stabs at Ryan's insides. He doesn't know if he can stand it for as long as he does. He doesn't say anything, though. He just slowly opens the door and stares up at Will's house. A large manner. Lions decorate the front porch, boasting about how amazing and beautiful and luxurious their life is as good Christians. God loves all His children. Except the homosexuals. He hates them. Because apparently it isn't right for people to love who they love. Because God hates those who He looks down on.

"Are you gonna be okay? Do you want us to come with?" Patrick says. He's speaking too much, and they all know it. But Ryan doesn't pay much mind, just takes Pete's hand and squeezes tight. A safehold. Something to ground him.

"Please do."

Patrick nods, but lets Ryan lead the way as they head up the stairs, wasting no time in seeing what's happened. As soon as they reach the top step, they blank, and they feel tears threatening to leak from their eyes. This is it. Everything's gonna piece together. And Will... Will can't... this can't...

They take a breath. 

Through this door is something else, something that will make him cry, or scream. It will make him break, he knows it. And even if it's all internal, it will still hurt. Will's still going to be... different. Maybe he won't even remember Ryan. Maybe he will, but he'll be repulsed... Maybe thhings won't even change. He doubts that though. Will will be different. He knows it. He knows things won't be okay. Will's going to be different. Ryan can't change that as much as he wishes he could.

Will's going to be a different person. 

They always are.

Ryan's going pale at the face when Pete brushes his arm and their eyes meet. Pete's strong, but empty, Ryan's sunken and wet. "It's going to be okay," Pete says, "We can leave if you - "

"No!" Ryan exclaims, too loud. Patrick jumps, "N-No, I can't. I have to..." He takes a deep breath and brushes back his hair, "I have to at least say goodbye... even if it's... even if it doesn't work... I have to..."

Patrick rubs his lower back with a nod and soon after, Ryan's trying the handle of the door. It's open.

As soon as he steps inside, the room feels cold, too cold and goosebumps cover his body. The room is empty, he looks around at the long couches and the TV that sits on the fine oak wood stand. It makes him sick. How they can have so much money but... don't even care for their one and only son. Ryan has to hold back the vomit forming in his throat as they begin walking up the stairs and take a sharp right down the hall, Pete right behind them.

"Hello?" Ryan calls, opening Will's bedroom door. Sure enough, there he is, staring up at the ceiling, eyes blank. His mother sitting on his bed, smiling down upon him and caressing his face. Her head turns to Ryan the moment the door creaks, though, and he exhales shakily at the sight.

"Hello there, Ryan." She smiles, bright and wide with dark red lipstick and her bobbed short hair reaching for her shoulders. "It's nice to see you here. I didn't think you'd show up."

Ryan doesn't reply, his eyes are fixed on Will, trying to take in every last detail of his face. Pete rests his palm on his shoulder and Ryan immediately straightens up, looking back at Will's mother.

"Who are these lovely gentlemen? More... homosexuals?" She says the word in disgust. 

"It doesn't matter," Ryan says, "There just here because they wanted to come say goodbye, too. Can I please... have a moment with him...? Alone...?"

Her gaze narrows, and she looks back to Will, stroking the cheek of a blank face, "I suppose so." She rises and kisses his forehead before turning to Ryan. "I did call you here for a reason, didn't I? It was rather rude to hang up on me, though."

Ryan shrugs because she's already heading down to the kitchen and his full attention is on Will, immediately rushing forward to caress his cheek. His eyes are blank, but alive, they stare straight ahead, and the moment Ryan is in view, they flicker to him. Ryan is crying before he can help himself, before he can hold it back, and Patrick rubs his back as he stares at Will.

"W-Will?" Ryan wipes his tears, "Please, tell me you remember me. Please."

Will blinks, as if his memory is completely blank but after a moment, he parts his lips, large eyes looking up. "Ryan...?"

Ryan covers his mouth, tears rushing down faster as he takes Will's cheek in his hand again and takes a deep breath to hold back the rush of emotion.

"Will, how do you feel? Do you remember anything? What did they do to you?"

Will doesn't quite process the questions, only stares away and smiles at Pete, carefree, lazy, almost... insane in a way. He doesn't understand. And it hurts. He doesn't know if Will can recover, or ever will from this. He doesn't know if he'll be aloud to ever step foot in this house again, and he has to hold off the vomit forcing its way up through his throat.

"They say it's medically induced childhood," She says, "He'll mature as he recovers. But right now. He's a five year old in the body of someone in their twenties. It makes it much easier to care for him when he's like this. He agrees with anything, he doesn't process much, he can't. And that's okay. He doesn't have to. They say his memory of you will return eventually, but it won't be the same. It's better this way. He won't stray from God's path this way."

Patrick spins around and snarls at her, a look of absolute fury and hatred in his eyes as he takes in her smug look. She disgusts him, the way she seems... proud of what she's done. Proud that she was able to fuck her son up so much just because he loved someone she disproved of. It makes him sick, it makes him want to die and take her with him. It doesn't matter what she believes in, she isn't any better than the scum that killed Gabe and Dallon and Tyler. She's no better than the other people who kill just because people love.

"You're a piece of absolute shit," Patrick growls, "How could you do this to him? How could you just... Just act like this is normal? He isn't ever going to be the same and you're /okay/ with that? YOu're okay with your own son going through this amount of pain and hurt just because he loves someone you disprove of? You're a- You're a fucking sociopathic bitch and you know it! You pray to a man up in the sky that will someday grant you all your wishes and make you happy and love you for forever. How long is forever when your own son isn't even your son. He doesn't understand anything. He... he's a child! And you're okay with that?"

She gasps, offended. As if.

"Excuse me, I'm saving his soul! He will be thankful once he recovers! God will restore him as a new man. A saint! Not the sinner he was and he will forever be in my debt. I feel that your parents don't love you or they would have done the same for scum like you. You homophiles have always been freaks. You... you faggots and trannies aren't going to heaven. You're going to hell where you're going to burn!"

Patrick screams and rushes forward, landing a punch straight to her jaw. Will makes a loud cry in distress and Ryan immediately calms him down, kissing his forehead and whispering things that probably won't matter in the future but it's just enough to get him by for the time being. He knows it won't matter. No matter how much he wishes it would. Will is gone. He isn't coming back. His mother is screaming and everything is going in slow motion as Pete pulls him away,

"Get out of my house! I am calling the police! Get out! Out, out, out! I never want to see your freak faces in my house again."

Ryan screams, trying hard to get out of Pete's grasp but he's being pulled away too fast and his eyes are tearing up and everything is going wrong. Nothing is okay. It's all terrible and Ryan is screaming, fighting. Patrick has his other hand and they're down the stairs and out the door before he knows it. He's still screaming. Crying. Begging to go back but he can't.

It's over.

And Will.

Will is gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to comment, kudos, or share, thank you! (Honestly, it's your comments that keeps this hell of a story going)


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